TheJuSTand  I 

the  Unjust 


Kester 


^ 


THE  JUST  AND  THE  UNJUST 


'■'■■>■' 


• 


'"• :  ' 

"  Oh,    I    want    .von,    Elizabeth  !  " 


THE  JUST 
AND  THE  UNJUST 

By 
VAUGHAN   KESTER 

Author  of 
THE  PRODIGAL  JUDGE,  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

M.  LEONE  BRACKER 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright  1912 
The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company 


PRESS    OF 

BRAUNWORTH    &    CO. 

BOOKBINDERS    AND    PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,    N.    Y. 


TO  MY  WIFE 


912890 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 
I 

Fighting  Shrimplin 

page 
1 

II 

The  Price  of  Folly 

.       16 

III 

Strange  Bedfellows 

.      41 

IV 

Adventure  in  Earnest  . 

.      56 

V 

Colonel  George  Harbison 

.      65 

VI 

Putting  on  the  Screws 

.      79 

VII 

The  Beauty  of  Elizabeth 

.      90 

VIII 

A  Gambler  at  Home 

.     100 

IX 

The  Star  Witness 

.     114 

X 

Husband  and  Wife 

.     122 

XI 

The  Finger  of  Suspicion 

.     139 

XII 

Joe  Tells  His  Story 

.     150 

XIII 

Light  in  Darkness 

.     166 

XIV 

The  Gambler's  Theory 

.     180 

XV 

Love  that  Endures 

.    201 

XVI 

At  His  Own  Door 

.    210 

XVII 

An  Unwilling  Guest     . 

.        .228 

XVIII 

Father  and  Son     . 

.     240 

XIX 

Shrimplin  to  the  Rescue 

.    253 

XX 

The  Cat  and  the  Mouse 

.    269 

XXI 

The  House  of  Cards 

.    279 

XXII 

Good  Men  and  True 

.    290 

XXIII 

The  Last  Appeal 

.     303 

XXIV 

The  Last  Long  Day 

.     319 

XXV 

On  the  High  Iron  Bridge 

.     327 

XXVI 

Custer's  Idol  Falls 

.    351 

XXVII 

Faith  is  Restored 

.     365 

XXVIII 

The  Last  Night  in  Jail 

.     383 

XXIX 

At  Idle  Hour 

.    386 

THE  JUST  AND  THE  UNJUST 


THE  JUST 
AND  THE  UNJUST 


CHAPTER    ONE 

FIGHTING   SHRIMPLIN 

CUSTER  felt  it  his  greatest  privilege  to  sit  of  a 
Sunday  morning  in  his  mother's  clean  and  bur- 
nished kitchen  and,  while  she  washed  the  breakfast 
dishes,  listen  to  such  reflections  as  his  father  might 
care  to  indulge  in. 

On  these  occasions  the  senior  Shrimplin,  com- 
monly called  Shrimp  by  his  intimates,  was  the  very 
picture  of  unconventional  ease-taking  as  he  lolled  in 
his  chair  before  the  kitchen  stove,  a  cracker  box  half 
filled  with  sawdust  conveniently  at  hand. 

As  far  back  as  his  memory  went  Custer  could  re- 
call vividly  these  Sunday  mornings,  with  the  church 
bells  ringing  peacefully  beyond  the  windows  of  his 
modest  home,  and  his  father  in  easy  undress,  just 
emerged  from  his  weekly  bath  and  pleasantly  redo- 
lent of  strong  yellow  soap,  his  feet  incased  in  blue 
yarn  socks — white  at  toe  and  heel — and  the  neck- 
band of  his  fresh-starched  shirt  sawing  away  at  the 

I 


2         THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

lobes  of  his  freckled  ears.  On  these  occasions  Mr. 
Shrimplin  inclined  to  a  certain  sad  conservatism  as 
he  discussed  with  his  son  those  events  of  the  week 
last  passed  which  had  left  their  impress  on  his  mind. 
But  what  pleased  Custer  best  was  when  his  father, 
ceasing  to  be  gently  discursive  and  becoming  vigor- 
ously personal,  added  yet  another  canto  to  the  stir- 
ring epic  of  William  Shrimplin. 

Custer  was  wholly  and  delightfully  sympathetic. 
There  was,  he  felt,  the  very  choicest  inspiration  in 
the  narrative,  always  growing  and  expanding,  of  his 
father's  earlier  career,  before  Mrs.  Shrimplin  came 
into  his  life,  and  as  Mr.  Shrimplin  delicately  inti- 
mated, tied  him  hand  and  foot.  The  same  grounds 
of  mutual  understanding  and  intellectual  depend- 
ence which  existed  between  Custer  and  his  father 
were  lacking  where  Mrs.  Shrimplin  was  concerned. 
She  was  unromantic,  with  a  painfully  literal  cast  of 
mind,  though  Custer — without  knowing  what  is 
meant  by  a  sense  of  humor,  suspected  her  of  this 
rare  gift,  a  dangerous  and  destructive  thing  in 
woman.  Privately  considering  her  relation  to  his 
father,  he  was  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  their 
union  was  a  most  distressing  instance  of  the  prone- 
ness  of  really  great  minds  to  leave  their  deep  chan- 
nels and  seek  the  shallow  waters  in  the  every-day 
concerns  of  life.  He  felt  vaguely  that  she  was  nar- 
row and  provincial ;  for  had  she  not  always  lived  on 
the  flats,  a  region  bounded  by  the  Square  on  the 
north  and  by  Stoke's  furniture  factory  on  the  south  ? 


FIGHTING    SHRIMPLIN  3 

On  the  west  the  flats  extended  as  far  as  civilization 
itself  extended  in  that  direction,  that  is,  to  the  gas 
house  and  the  creek  bank,  while  on  the  east  they 
were  roughly  defined  by  Mitchell's  tannery  and  the 
brick  slaughter-house,  beyond  which  vacant  lots 
merged  into  cow  pastures,  the  cow  pastures  yielding 
in  their  turn  to  the  real  country,  where  the  level 
valley  rolled  up  into  hills  which  tilted  the  great 
green  fields  to  the  sun. 

Mrs.  Shrimplin  had  been  born  on  the  flats,  and 
the  flats  had  witnessed  her  meeting  and  mating  with 
Shrimplin,  when  that  gentleman  had  first  appeared 
in  Mount  Hope  in  the  interest  of  Whiting's  cele- 
brated tooth-powder,  to  the  use  of  which  he  was  not 
personally  committed.  At  that  time  he  was  also  an 
itinerant  bill-poster  and  had  his  lodgings  at  Maxy 
Schaffer's  Railroad  Hotel  hard  by  the  B.  &  O. 
tracks. 

Mr.  Shrimplin  was  five  feet  three,  and  narrow 
chested.  A  drooping  flaxen  mustache  shaded  a 
sloping  chin  and  a  loose  under  lip,  while  a  pair  of 
pale  eyes  looked  sadly  out  upon  the  world  from  the 
shadow  of  a  hooked  nose. 

Mr.  Joe  Montgomery,  Mrs.  Shrimplin's  brother- 
in-law,  present  on  the  occasion  of  her  marriage  to 
the  little  bill-poster,  had  critically  surveyed  the 
bridegroom  and  had  been  moved  to  say  to  a  friend, 
"Shrimp  certainly  do  favor  a  peanut!" 

Mr.  Montgomery's  comparative  criticism  of  her 
husband's   appearance  had  in   due  season   reached 


4         THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

the  ears  of  the  bride,  and  had  caused  a  rupture  in 
the  family  that  the  years  had  not  healed,  but  her  re- 
sentment had  been  more  a  matter  of  justice  to  her- 
self than  that  she  felt  the  criticism  to  be  wholly 
inapt. 

Mr.  Shrimplin  had  now  become  a  public  servant, 
for  certain  gasolene  lamps  in  the  town  of  Mount 
Hope  were  his  proud  and  particular  care.  Any 
night  he  could  be  seen  seated  in  his  high  two- 
wheeled  cart  drawn  by  a  horse  large  in  promise  of 
speed  but  small  in  achievement,  a  hissing  gasolene 
torch  held  between  his  knees,  making  his  way 
through  that  part  of  the  town  where  gas-lamps  were 
as  yet  unknown.  He  still  further  added  to  his  in- 
come by  bill-posting  and  paper-hanging,  for  he  be- 
longed to  the  rank  and  file  of  life,  with  a  place  in  the 
procession  well  toward  the  tail. 

But  Custer  had  no  suspicion  of  this.  He  never 
saw  his  father  as  the  world  saw  him.  He  would 
have  described  his  eye  as  piercing;  he  would  have 
said,  in  spite  of  the  slouching  uncertainty  that  char- 
acterized all  his  movements,  that  he  was  as  quick  as 
a  cat;  and  it  was  only  Custer  who  detected  the  note 
of  authority  in  the  meek  tones  of  his  father's  voice. 

And  Custer  was  as  like  the  senior  Shrimplin  as  it 
was  possible  for  fourteen  to  be  like  forty-eight.  His 
mother  said,  "He  certainly  looks  for  all  the  world 
like  his  pa  I"  but  her  manner  of  saying  it  left  doubt 
as  to  whether  she  rejoiced  in  the  fact;  for,  while  Mr. 
Shrimplin  was  undoubtedly  a  hero  to  Custer,  he  was 


FIGHTING    SHRIMPLIN  5 

not  and  never  had  been  and  never  could  be  a  hero  to 
Mrs.  Shrimplin.  She  saw  in  him  only  what  the 
world  saw — a  stoop-shouldered  little  man  who  spent 
six  days  of  the  seven  in  overalls  that  were  either 
greasy  or  pasty. 

It  was  a  vagary  of  Mr.  Shrimplin's  that  ten  reck- 
less years  of  his  life  had  been  spent  in  the  West,  the 
far  West,  the  West  of  cow-towns  and  bad  men ;  that 
for  this  decade  he  had  flourished  on  bucking  broncos 
and  in  gilded  bars,  the  admired  hero  of  a  variety  of 
deft  homicides.  Out  of  his  inner  consciousness  he 
had  evolved  a  sprightly  epic  of  which  he  was  the 
central  figure,  a  figure,  according  to  Custer's  firm 
belief,  sinister,  fateful  with  big  jingling  silver  spurs 
at  his  heels  and  iron  on  his  hips,  whose  specialty  was 
manslaughter. 

In  the  creation  of  his  romance  he  might  almost  be 
said  to  have  acquired  a  literary  habit  of  mind,  to 
which  he  was  measurably  helped  by  the  fiction  he 
read. 

Custer  devoured  the  same  books ;  but  he  never  sus- 
pected his  father  of  the  crime  of  plagiarism,  nor 
guessed  that  his  choicest  morsels  of  adventure  in- 
volved a  felony.  Mrs.  Shrimplin  felt  it  necessary  to 
protest : 

''No  telling  with  what  nonsense  you  are  filling 
that  boy's  head!" 

"I  hope,"  said  Mr.  Shrimplin,  narrowing  his  eyes 
to  a  slit,  as  if  he  expected  to  see  pictured  on  the  back 
of  their  lids  the  panorama  of  Custer's  future,  "I 


6         THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

hope  I  am  filling  his  head  with  just  nonsense  enough 
so  he  will  never  crawfish,  no  matter  what  kind  of  a 
proposition  he  goes  up  against!" 

Custer  colored  almost  guiltily.  Could  he  ever 
hope  to  attain  to  the  grim  standard  his  father  had 
set  for  him? 

"I  wasn't  much  older  than  him  when  I  shot  Mur- 
phy at  Fort  Worth,"  continued  Mr.  Shrimplin, 
"You've  heard  me  tell  about  him,  son — old  one-eye 
Murphy  of  Texacana?" 

"He  died,  I  suppose!"  said  Mrs.  Shrimplin, 
wringing  out  her  dish-rag.  "Dear  knows !  I  won- 
der you  ain't  been  hung  long  ago  !" 

"Did  he  die!"  rejoined  Mr.  Shrimplin  ironically. 
"Well,  they  usually  die  when  I  begin  to  throw 
lead !"  He  tugged  fiercely  at  the  ends  of  his  droop- 
ing flaxen  mustache  and  gazed  into  the  wide  and 
candid  eyes  of  his  son. 

"Like  I  should  give  you  the  particulars,  Custer?" 
he  inquired. 

Custer  nodded  eagerly,  and  Mr.  Shrimplin  cleared 
his  throat. 

"He  was  called  one-eye  Murphy  because  he  had 
only  one  eye — he'd  lost  the  other  in  a  rough-and- 
tumble  fight;  it  had  been  gouged  out  by  a  feller's 
thumb.  Murphy  got  the  feller's  ear,  chewed  it  off 
as  they  was  rolling  over  and  over  on  the  floor,  so 
you  might  say  they  swapped  even." 

"I  wonder  you'd  pick  on  an  afflicted  person  like 
that,"  observed  Mrs.  Shrimplin. 


FIGHTING    SHRIMPLIN  7 

"Afflicted !  Well,  he  could  see  more  and  see  fur- 
ther with  that  one  eye  than  most  men  could  with 
four!" 

"I  should  think  four  eyes  would  be  confusing" 
said  Mrs.  Shrimplin. 

Mr.  Shrimplin  folded  his  arms  across  his  narrow 
chest  and  permitted  his  glance  to  follow  Mrs. 
Shrimplin's  ample  figure  as  she  moved  to  and  fro 
about  the  room;  and  when  he  spoke  again  a  gentle 
melancholy  had  crept  into  his  tone. 

"I  dunno  but  a  man  makes  a  heap  of  sacrifices  he 
never  gets  no  credit  for  when  he  marries  and  settles 
down.  The  ladies  ain't  what  they  used  to  be.  They 
look  on  a  man  now  pretty  much  as  a  meal-ticket.  I 
guess  if  a  feller  chewed  off  another  feller's  ear  in 
Mount  Hope  he'd  never  hear  the  last  of  it !" 

As  neither  Mrs.  Shrimplin  nor  Custer  questioned 
this  point,  Mr.  Shrimplin  reverted  to  his  narrative. 

"I  started  in  to  tell  you  how  I  put  Murphy  out  of 
business,  didn't  I,  son?  The  facts  brought  out  by 
the  coroner's  jury,"  embarking  on  what  he  con- 
ceived to  be  a  bit  of  happy  and  elaborate  realism, 
"was  that  I'd  shot  him  in  self-defense  after  he'd 
drawed  a  gun  on  me.  He  had  heard  I  was  at 
Fort  Worth — not  that  I  was  looking  for  trouble, 
which  I  never  done;  but  I  never  turned  it  down 
when  any  one  was  at  pains  to  fetch  it  to  me;  I  was 
always  willing  they  should  leave  it  with  me  for  to 
have  a  merry  time.  Murphy  heard  I'd  said  if  he'd 
come  to  Fort  Worth  I'd  take  him  home  and  make  a 


8         THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

pet  of  him;  and  he'd  sent  back  word  that  he  was 
looking  for  a  man  with  two  ears  to  play  with;  and 
I'd  said  mine  was  on  loose  and  for  him  to  come  and 
pull  'em  off.  After  that  there  was  just  one  thing 
he  could  do  if  he  wanted  to  be  well  thought  of,  and 
he  done  it.  He  hit  the  town  hell-snorting,  and  so 
mad  he  was  fit  to  be  tied."  Mr.  Shrimplin  paused 
to  permit  this  striking  phrase  to  lay  hold  of  Custer's 
imagination.  "Yes,  sir,  hell-snorting,  and  so  bad  he 
was  plum  scairt  of  himself.  He  said  he  was  looking 
for  a  gentleman  who  had  sent  him  word  he  had  two 
ears  to  contribute  to  the  evening's  gaiety,  by  which 
I  knowed  he  meant  me  and  was  in  earnest.  He  was 
full  of  boot-leg  whisky — " 

"What  kind  of  whisky's  that,  pa?"  asked  Custer. 

"That,"  said  Mr.  Shrimplin,  looking  into  the 
round  innocent  face  of  his  son,  "that's  the  stuff  the 
traders  used  to  sell  the  Indians.  Strong?  Well, 
you  might  say  it  was  middling  strong — just  mid- 
dling— about  three  drops  of  it  would  make  a  rabbit 
spit  in  a  bulldog's  face !" 

It  was  on  one  memorable  twenty-seventh  of  No- 
vember that  Mr.  Shrimplin  reached  this  height  of 
verbal  felicity,  and  being  Thanksgiving  day,  it  was, 
aside  from  the  smell  of  strong  yellow  soap  and  the 
fresh-starched  white  shirt,  very  like  a  Sunday. 

He  and  Custer  sat  before  the  kitchen  stove  and  in 
the  intervals  of  his  narrative  listened  to  the  wind 
rise  without,  and  watched  the  sparse  flakes  of  fine 
snow  that  it  brought  coldly  out  of  the  north,  where 


1   started  to   tell   you   how    I    put   Murphy   out   of   business 


l-VLtONfc 


FIGHTING    SHRIMPLIN  9 

the  cloud  banks  lay  leaden  and  chill  on  the  far 
horizon. 

Mr.  Shrimplin  had  risen  early  that  day,  or,  as  he 
told  Custer,  he  had  "got  up  soon",  and  long  before 
his  son  had  left  his  warm  bed  in  the  small 
room  over  the  kitchen,  was  well  on  his  rounds 
in  his  high  two-wheeled  cart,  with  the  rack  under 
the  seat  which  held  the  great  cans  of  gasolene  from 
which  the  lamps  were  filled.  He  had  only  paused 
at  Maxy  Schaffer's  Railroad  Hotel  to  partake  of 
what  he  called  a  Kentucky  breakfast — a  drink  of 
whisky  and  a  chew  of  tobacco — a  simple  dietary 
protection  against  the  evils  of  an  empty  stomach,  to 
which  he  particularly  drew  Custer's  attention. 

His  father's  occupation  was  entirely  satisfactory 
to  Custer.  Being  employed  by  the  town  gave  him 
an  official  standing,  perhaps  not  so  distinguished  as 
that  of  a  policeman,  but  still  eminently  worth  while; 
and  Mr.  Shrimplin  added  not  a  little  to  the  sense  of 
its  importance  by  dilating  on  the  intrigues  of  ambi- 
tious rivals  who  desired  to  wrest  his  contract  from 
him;  and  he  impressed  Custer,  who  frequently  ac- 
companied him  on  his  rounds,  with  the  wisdom  of 
keeping  the  lamps  that  shown  upon  the  homes  of 
members  of  the  town  council  in  especially  good  order. 
Furthermore,  there  were  possibilities  of  adventure 
in  the  occupation ;  it  took  Mr.  Shrimplin  into  out-of- 
the-way  streets  and  unfrequented  alleys,  and,  as 
Custer  knew,  he  always  went  armed.  Some- 
times,  when  in  an   unusually   gracious   mood,   his 


ro       THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

father  permitted  him  to  verify  this  fact  by  feeling 
his  bulging  hip  pocket.  The  feel  of  it  was  vastly 
pleasing  to  Custer,  particularly  when  Mr.  Shrimplin 
had  to  tell  of  strangers  engaged  in  mysterious  con- 
versation on  dark  street  corners,  who  slunk  away  as 
he  approached.  More  than  this,  it  was  a  matter  of 
public  knowledge  that  he  had  had  numerous  contro- 
versies in  low  portions  of  the  town  touching  the 
right  of  the  private  citizen  to  throw  stones  at  the 
street  lamps ;  to  Custer  he  made  dire  threats.  He'd 
''toss  a  scare  into  them  red  necks  yet!  They'd  bust 
his  lamps  once  too  often — he  was  laying  for  them ! 
He  knowed  pretty  well  who  done  it,  and  when  he 
found  out  for  sure — "  He  winked  at  Custer,  leaving 
it  to  his  son's  imagination  to  determine  just  what 
form  his  vengeance  would  take,  and  Custer,  being 
nothing  if  not  sanguinary,  prayed  for  bloodshed. 

But  the  thing  that  pleased  the  boy  best  was  his 
father's  account  of  those  meetings  with  mysterious 
strangers.  How  as  he  approached  they  moved  off 
with  many  a  furtive  backward  glance;  how  he  made 
as  if  to  drive  away  in  the  opposite  direction,  and 
then  at  the  first  corner  turned  swiftly  about  and 
raced  down  some  parallel  street  in  hot  pursuit,  to 
come  on  them  again,  to  their  great  and  manifest 
discomfiture.  Circumstantially  he  described  each 
turn  he  made,  down  what  streets  he  drove  Bill  at  a 
gallop,  up  which  he  walked  that  trustworthy  animal ; 
all  was  elaborately  worked  out.  The  chase,  how- 
ever,  always   ended  one  way — the  strangers   dis- 


FIGHTING    SHRIMPLIN  u 

appeared  unaccountably,  and,  search  as  he  might,  he 
could  not  find  them  again,  but  he  and  Custer  felt 
certain  that  his  activity  had  probably  averted  some 
criminal  act. 

In  short,  to  Mr.  Shrimplin  and  his  son  the  small 
events  of  life  magnified  themselves,  becoming  dis- 
torted and  portentous.  A  man,  emerging  suddenly 
from  an  alley  in  the  dusk  of  the  early  evening,  fur- 
nished them  with  a  theme  for  infinite  speculation 
and  varied  conjecture;  that  nine  times  out  of  ten  the 
man  said,  ''Hello,  Shrimp !"  and  passed  on  his  way 
perfectly  well  known  to  the  little  lamplighter  was  a 
matter  of  not  the  slightest  importance.  Sometimes, 
it  is  true,  Mr.  Shrimplin  told  of  the  salutation,  but 
the  man  was  always  a  stranger  to  him,  and  that  he 
should  have  spoken,  calling  him  by  name,  he  and 
Custer  agreed  only  added  to  the  sinister  mystery  of 
the  encounter. 

It  was  midday  on  that  twenty-seventh  of  Novem- 
ber when  Mr.  Shrimplin  killed  Murphy  of  the  soli- 
tary eye,  and  he  reached  the  climax  of  the  story  just 
as  Mrs.  Shrimplin  began  to  prepare  the  dressing  for 
the  small  turkey  that  was  to  be  the  principal  feature 
of  their  four-o'clock  dinner.  The  morning's  scanty 
fall  of  snow  had  been  so  added  to  as  time  passed 
that  now  it  completely  whitened  the  strip  of  brown 
turf  in  the  little  side  yard  beyond  the  kitchen  win- 
dows. 

"I  think,"  said  Mr.  Shrimplin,  "we  are  going  to 
see  some  weather.     Well,  snow  ain't  a  bad  thing." 


12       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

His  dreamy  eyes  rested  on  Custer  for  an  instant; 
they  seemed  to  invite  a  question. 

"No?"  said  Custer  interrogatively. 

"If  I  was  going  to  murder  a  man,  I  don't  reckon 
I'd  care  to  do  it  when  there  was  snow  on  the 
ground." 

Mrs.  Shrimplin  here  suggested  cynically  that  per- 
haps he  dreaded  cold  feet,  but  her  husband  ignored 
this.  To  what  he  felt  to  be  the  commonplaceness  of 
her  outlook  he  had  long  since  accustomed  himself. 
He  merely  said : 

"I  suppose  more  criminals  has  been  caught  be- 
cause they  done  their  crimes  when  it  was  snowing 
than  any  other  way.  Only  chance  a  feller  would 
have  to  get  off  without  leaving  tracks  would  be  in  a 
balloon;  I  don't  know  as  I  ever  heard  of  a  mur- 
derer escaping  in  a  balloon,  but  I  reckon  it  could  be 
done." 

He  disliked  to  relinquish  such  an  original  idea, 
and  the  subject  of  murderers  and  balloons,  with 
such  ramifications  as  suggested  themselves  to  his 
mind,  occupied  him  until  dinner-time.  He  quitted 
the  table  to  prepare  for  his  night's  work,  and  at  five 
o'clock  backed  wild  Bill  into  the  shafts  of  his  high 
cart,  lighted  the  hissing  gasolene  torch,  and  mounted 
to  his  seat. 

"I  expect  he'll  want  his  head  to-night;  he's  got  a 
game  look,"  he  said  to  Custer,  nodding  toward  Bill. 
Then,  as  he  tucked  a  horse  blanket  snugly  about  his 
legs,  he  added :    "It's  a  caution  the  way  he  gets  over 


FIGHTING    SHRIMPLIN  13 

the  ground.    I  never  seen  a  horse  that  gets  over  the 
ground  like  Bill  does." 

Which  was  probably  true  enough,  for  Bill  em- 
ployed every  known  gait. 

"He's  a  mighty  well-broke  horse!"  agreed  Custer 
in  a  tone  Ofsincere  conviction. 

"He'ls..  He's  got  more  gaits  than  you  can  shake 
a  stick  at !"  said  Mr.  Shrimplin. 

Privately  he  labored  under  the  delusion  that 
Bill  was  dangerous;  even  years  of  singular 
rectitude  on  Bill's  part  had  failed  to  alter 
his  original  opinion  on  this  one  point,  and  he 
often  told  Custer  that  he  would  have  felt  lost  with  a 
horse  just  anybody  could  have  driven,  for  while  Bill 
might  not  and  probably  would  not  have  suited  most 
people,  he  suited  him  all  right. 

"Well,  good-by,  son,"  said  Mr.  Shrimplin,  slap- 
ping Bill  with  the  lines. 

Bill  went  out  of  the  alley  back  of  Mr.  Shrimplin's 
small  barn,  his  head  held  high,  and  taking  tre- 
mendous strides  that  somehow  failed  in  their  pur- 
pose if  speed  was  the  result  desired. 

Twilight  deepened;  the  snow  fell  softly,  silently, 
until  it  became  a  ghostly  mist  that  hid  the  town — hid 
the  very  houses  on  opposite  sides  of  the  street,  and 
through  this  flurry  Bill  shuffled  with  unerring  in- 
stinct, dragging  Mr.  Shrimplin  from  lamp-post  to 
lamp-post,  until  presently  down  the  street  a  long 
row  of  lights  blazed  red  in  the  swirling  smother  of 
white, 


14       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

Custer  reentered  the  house.  The  day  held  the 
sentiment  of  Sunday  and  this  he  found  depressing. 
He  had  also  dined  ambitiously,  and  this  he  found 
even  more  depressing.  He  wondered  vaguely,  but 
with  no  large  measure  of  hope,  if  there  would  be 
sledding  in  the  morning.  Probably  it  would  turn 
warm  during  the  night;  he  knew  how  those  things 
went.  From  his  seat  by  the  stove  he  watched  the 
hurrying  flakes  beyond  the  windows,  and  as  he 
watched,  the  darkness  came  down  imperceptibly  un- 
til he  ceased  to  see  beyond  the  four  walls  of  the  room. 

Mrs.  Shrimplin  was  busy  with  her  mending.  She 
did  not  attempt  conversation  with  her  son,  though 
she  occasionally  cast  a  curious  glance  in  his  direc- 
tion ;  he  was  not  usually  so  silent.  All  at  once  the 
boy  started. 

11 What's  that?"  he  cried. 

"La,  Custer,  how  you  startle  a  body !  It's  the 
town  bell.  I  should  think  you'd  know;  you've  heard 
it  often  enough."  As  she  spoke  she  glanced  at  the 
clock  on  the  shelf  in  the  corner  of  the  room.  "I 
guess  that  clock's  stopped  again,"  she  added,  but  in 
the  silence  that  followed  her  words  they  both  heard 
it  tick. 

The  bell  rang  on. 

"It  ain't  half  past  seven  yet.  Maybe  it's  a  fire!" 
said  Custer.  He  quitted  his  chair  and  moved  to  the 
window.  "I  wish  they'd  give  the  ward.  They'd 
ought  to.     How's  a  body  to  know — " 

"Set    down,    Custer!"    commanded    his    mother 


FIGHTING    SHRIMPLIN  15 

sharply.  "You  ain't  going  out !  You  know  your  pa 
don't  allow  you  to  go  to  no  fires  after  night." 

"You  don't  call  this  night!"  He  was  edging 
toward  the  door. 

"Yes,  I  do!" 

"A  quarter  after  seven  ain't  night !"  he  expostu- 
lated. 

"No  arguments,  Custer!  You  sit  down!  I  won't 
have  you  trapesing  about  the  streets." 

Custer  turned  back  from  the  door  and  resumed 
his  seat. 

"Why  don't  they  give  the  ward?  I  never  heard 
such  a  fool  way  of  ringing  for  a  fire!"  he  said. 

They  were  silent,  intent  and  listening.  Now  the 
wind  was  driving  the  sound  clamorously  across  the 
town. 

"They  ain't  give  the  ward  yet!"  said  Custer  at 
length,  in  a  tone  of  great  disgust.  "I  could  ring 
for  a  fire  better  than  that !" 

"I  wish  your  pa  was  to  home!"  said  Mrs.  Shrimp- 
lin. 

As  she  spoke  they  caught  the  muffled  sound  of 
hurrying  feet,  then  the  clamor  of  voices,  eager  and 
excited;  but  presently  these  died  away  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  again  they  heard  only  the  bell,  which 
rang  on  and  on  and  on. 


CHAPTER    TWO 

THE   PRICE   OF   FOLLY 

JOHN  NORTH  occupied  the  front  rooms  on  the 
first  floor  of  the  three-story  brick  structure  that 
stood  at  the  corner  of  Main  Street  and  the  Square. 
The  only  other  tenant  on  the  floor  with  him  was 
Andy  Gilmore,  who  had  apartments  at  the  back  of 
the  building.  Until  quite  recently  Mr.  North  and 
Mr.  Gilmore  had  been  friends  and  boon  compan- 
ions, but  of  late  North  had  rather  avoided  this 
neighbor  of  his. 

Mount  Hope  said  that  North  had  parted  with  the 
major  portion  of  his  small  fortune  to  Gilmore. 
Mount  Hope  also  said  and  believed,  and  with  most 
excellent  justification  for  so  doing,  that  North  was  a 
fool — a  truth  he  had  told  himself  so  many  times 
within  the  last  month  that  it  had  become  the  utter 
weariness  of  iteration. 

He  was  a  muscular  young  fellow  of  twenty-six, 
with  a  handsome  face,  and,  when  he  chose,  a  kindly 
charming  manner.  He  had  been — and  he  was  fully 
aware  of  this — as  idle  and  as  worthless  as  any  young 
fellow  could  possibly  be;  he  was  even  aware  that 
the  worst  Mount  Hope  said  of  him  was  much  better 

16 


THE    PRICE    OF    FOLLY  17 

than  he  deserved.  In  those  hours  that  were  such  a 
new  experience  to  him,  when  he  denied  himself 
other  companionship  than  his  own  accusing  con- 
science; when  the  contemplation  of  the  naked  shape 
of  his  folly  absorbed  him  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else, 
he  would  sit  before  his  fire  with  the  poker  clutched 
in  his  hands  and  his  elbows  resting  on  his  knees, 
poking  between  the  bars  of  the  grate,  poking 
moodily,  while  under  his  breath  he  cursed  the  weak- 
ness that  had  made  him  what  he  was. 

With  his  hair  in  disorder  on  his  handsome 
shapely  head,  he  would  sit  thus  hours  together,  not 
wholly  insensible  to  a  certain  grim  sense  of  humor, 
since  in  all  his  schemes  of  life  he  had  made  no  pro- 
vision for  the  very  thing  that  had  happened.  He 
wondered  mightily  what  a  fellow  could  do  with  his 
last  thousand  dollars,  especially  when  a  fellow 
chanced  to  be  in  love  and  meditated  nothing  less 
than  marriage;  for  North's  day-dream,  coming  like 
the  sun  through  a  rift  in  the  clouds  to  light  up  the 
somberness  of  his  solitary  musings,  was  all  of  love 
and  Elizabeth  Herbert.  He  wondered  what  she  had 
heard  of  him — little  that  was  good,  he  told  himself, 
and  probably  much  that  was  to  his  discredit.  Yet  as 
he  sat  there  he  was  slowly  shaping  plans  for  the 
future.  One  point  was  clear :  he  must  leave  Mount 
Hope,  where  he  had  run  his  course,  where  he  was 
involved  and  committed  in  ways  he  could  not  bear 
to  think  of.  To  go  meant  that  he  would  be  forsak- 
ing much  that  was  evil;  a  situation  from  which  he 


18       THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

could  not  extricate  himself  otherwise.  It  also  meant 
that  he  would  be  leaving  Elizabeth  Herbert;  but 
perhaps  she  had  not  even  guessed  his  secret,  for 
he  had  not  spoken  of  love;  or  perhaps  having 
divined  it,  she  cared  nothing  for  him.  Even 
so,  his  regeneration  seemed  in  itself  a  thing 
worth  while.  What  he  was  to  do,  how  make 
a  place  for  himself,  he  had  scarcely  considered ;  but 
his  inheritance  was  wasted,  and  of  the  comfortable 
thousands  that  had  come  to  him,  next  to  nothing 
remained. 

In  the  intervals  between  his  musings  Mr.  North 
got  together  such  of  his  personal  belongings  as  he 
deemed  worth  the  removal;  he  was  surprised  to  find 
how  few  were  the  things  he  really  valued.  On  the 
grounds  of  a  chastened  taste  in  such  matters  he 
threw  aside  most  of  his  clothes ;  he  told  himself  that 
he  did  not  care  to  be  judged  by  such  mere  externals 
as  the  shade  of  a  tie  or  the  color  of  a  pair  of  hose. 
Under  his  hands — for  the  spirit  of  reform  was 
strong  upon  him — his  rooms  took  on  a  sober  ap- 
pearance. He  amused  himself  by  making  sundry 
penitential  offerings  to  the  flames;  numerous  evi- 
dences of  his  unrighteous  bachelorhood  disappear- 
ing from  walls  and  book-shelves.  Coincident  with 
this  he  owned  to  a  feeling  of  intense  satisfaction. 
What  remained  he  would  have  his  friend  Marshall 
Langham  sell  after  he  was  gone,  his  finances  having 
suddenly  become  of  paramount  importance. 

But  the  days  passed,  and  though  he  was  not  able 


THE    PRICE    OF    FOLLY  19 

to  bring  himself  to  leave  Mount  Hope,  his  purpose  in 
its  final  aspect  underwent  no  change.  He  lived  to 
himself,  and  his  old  haunts  and  his  old  friends  saw 
nothing  of  him.  Evelyn  Langham,  whom  he  had 
known  before  she  married  his  friend  Marshall,  was 
fortunately  absent  from  town.  Her  letters  to  him  re- 
mained unanswered;  the  last  one  he  had  burned  un- 
read. He  was  sick  of  the  devious  crooked  paths  he 
had  trodden;  he  might  not  be  just  the  stuff  of  which 
saints  are  made,  but  there  was  the  hope  in  his  heart 
of  better  things  than  he  had  yet  known. 

At  about  the  time  Mr.  Shrimplin  was  attacking 
his  Thanksgiving  turkey,  North,  from  his  window, 
watched  the  leaden  clouds  that  overhung  the  house- 
tops. From  the  frozen  dirt  of  the  unpaved  streets  the 
keen  wind  whipped  up  scanty  dust  clouds,  mingling 
them  with  sudden  flurries  of  fine  snow.  Save  for  the 
passing  of  an  occasional  pedestrian  who  breasted  the 
gale  with  lowered  head,  the  Square  was  deserted. 
Staring  down  on  it,  North  drummed  idly  on  the  win- 
dow-pane. What  an  unspeakable  fool  he  had  been, 
and  what  a  price  his  folly  was  costing  him !  As  he 
stood  there,  heavy-hearted  and  bitter  in  spirit,  he 
saw  Marshall  Langham  crossing  the  Square  in  the 
direction  of  his  office.  He  watched  his  friend's  wind- 
driven  progress  for  a  moment,  then  slipped  into  his 
overcoat  and,  snatching  up  his  hat,  hurried  from  the 
room. 

Langham,  with  Moxlow,  his  law  partner,  occu- 
pied two  handsomely  furnished  rooms  on  the  first 


20       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

floor  of  the  one  building  in  Mount  Hope  that  was 
distinctly  an  office  building,  since  its  sky-scraping 
five  stories  were  reached  by  an  elevator.  Here  North 
found  Langham — a  man  only  three  or  four  years 
older  than  himself,  tall,  broad-shouldered,  with  an 
oratorical  air  of  distinction  and  a  manner  that  pro- 
claimed him  the  leading  young  lawyer  at  the  local 
bar. 

He  greeted  North  cordially,  and  the  latter  ob- 
served that  his  friend's  face  was  unusually  flushed, 
and  that  beads  of  perspiration  glistened  on  his  fore- 
head, which  he  frequently  wiped  with  a  large  linen 
handkerchief. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself,  Jack?" 
he  demanded,  sliding  his  chair  back  from  the  desk 
at  which  he  was  seated.  "I  haven't  had  a  glimpse 
of  you  in  days." 

"I  have  been  keeping  rather  quiet." 

"What's  the  matter?  Liver  out  of  whack?"  Lang- 
ham  smiled  complacently. 

"Worse  than  that!"  North  rejoined  moodily. 

"That's  saying  a  good  deal?     What  is  it,  Jack?" 

But  North  was  not  inclined  to  lay  bare  his  heart; 
he  doubted  if  Langham  could  be  made  to  compre- 
hend any  part  of  his  suffering. 

"I  am  getting  down  to  my  last  dollar,  Marsh.  I 
don't  know  where  the  money  went,  but  it's  gone,"  he 
finally  said. 

Langham  nodded. 

"You  have  certainly  had  your  little  time,  Jack, 


THE    PRICE    OF    FOLLY  21 

and  it's  been  a  perfectly  good  little  time,  too !  What 
are  you  going  to  do  when  you  are  cleaned  out?" 

"That's  part  of  the  puzzle,  Marsh,  that's  the  very 
hell  and  all  of  it." 

"Well,  you  have  had  your  fun — lots  of  it!"  said 
Langham,  swabbing  his  face. 

North  noticed  the  embroidered  initial  in  the  cor- 
ner of  the  handkerchief. 

"Fun!  Was  it  fun?"  he  demanded  with  sudden 
heat. 

"You  took  it  for  fun.  Personally  I  think  it  was  a 
pretty  fair  imitation." 

"Yes,  I  took  it  for  fun,  or  mistook  it;  that's  the 
pity  of  it!  I  can  forgive  myself  for  almost  every- 
thing but  having  been  a  fool !" 

"That's  always  a  hard  dose  to  swallow,"  agreed 
Langham.  He  was  willing  to  enter  into  his  friend's 
mood. 

"Have  you  ever  tried  to  swallow  it?"  asked  North. 

"I  can't  say  I  have.  Some  of  us  haven't  any  busi- 
ness with  a  conscience — our  blood's  too  red.  I've 
made  up  my  mind  that,  while  I  may  be  a  man  of 
moral  impulses  I  am  also  a  creature  of  purest  acci- 
dent. It's  the  same  with  you,  Jack.  You  are  a  pretty 
decent  fellow  down  under  the  skin;  there's  still  the 
divine  spark  in  you,  though  perhaps  it  doesn't  burn 
bright  enough  to  warm  the  premises.  But  it's  there, 
like  a  shaft  of  light  from  a  gem,  a  gem  in  the  rough 
— though  I  believe  I'm  mixing  my  metaphors." 

"Why  don't  you  say  a  pearl  in  the  mire?" 


22       THE   JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"But  that  doesn't  really  take  from  your  pearlship, 
though  it  may  dim  your  luster.  No,  Jack,  the  acci- 
dents have  been  to  your  morals  instead  of  your 
arms  and  legs.  That's  how  I  explain  it  in  my  own 
case,  and  it's  saved  me  many  a  bad  quarter  of  an 
hour  with  myself.  I  know  I'd  be  on  crutches  if  the 
vicissitudes  of  which  I  have  been  the  victim  could  be 
given  physical  expression." 

"Marsh,"  said  North  soberly,  "I  am  going  away." 

"You  are  going  to  do  what,  Jack?"  demanded  the 
lawyer. 

"I  am  going  to  leave  Mount  Hope.  I  am  going 
West  for  a  bit,  and  after  I  am  gone  I  want  you  to  sell 
the  stuff  in  my  rooms  for  me;  have  an  auction  and 
get  rid  of  every  stick  of  the  fool  truck !" 

"Why,  what's  wrong?     Going  away — when?" 

"At  once,  to-morrow — to-night  maybe.  I  don't 
know  quite  when,  but  very  soon.  I  want  you  to  get 
rid  of  all  my  stuff,  do  you  understand?  Before  long 
I'll  write  you  my  address  and  you  can  send  me  what- 
ever it  brings.    I  expect  I'll  need  the  money — " 

"Why,  you're  crazy,  man !"  cried  Langham. 

North  moved  impatiently.  He  had  not  come  to 
discuss  the  merit  of  his  plans. 

"On  the  contrary  I  am  having  my  first  gleam  of 
reason,"  he  said  briefly. 

"Of  course  you  know  best,  Jack,"  acquiesced 
Langham  after  a  moment's  silence. 

"You'll  do  what  I  ask  of  you,  Marsh?" 

"Oh,   hang   it,   yes."     He  hesitated   for   an   in- 


THE    PRICE    OF    FOLLY  23 

stant  and  then  said  frankly.  "You  know  I'm 
rather  in  your  debt;  I  don't  suppose  five  hundred 
dollars  would  square  what  I  have  had  from  you  first 
and  last." 

"I  hope  you  won't  mention  it!  Whenever  it  is 
quite  convenient,  that  will  be  soon  enough." 

"Thank  you,  Jack!"  said  Langham  gratefully. 
"The  fact  is  the  pickings  here  are  pretty  small." 

Again  the  lawyer  mopped  his  brow  and  again 
North  moved  impatiently. 

"Don't  say  another  word  about  it,  Marsh,"  he  re- 
peated. "McBride  has  agreed  to  take  the  last  of  my 
gas  bonds  off  my  hands ;  that  will  get  me  away  from 
here." 

"How  many  have  you  left?"  asked  Langham 
curiously. 

"Ten,"  said  North. 

Langham  whistled. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  are  down  to  that? 
Why,  you  told  me  once  you  held  a  hundred !" 

"So  I  did  once,  but  it  costs  money  to  be  the  kind 
of  fool  I've  been  !"  said  North. 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  are  doing  the  sensible  thing 
in  getting  out  of  this.  Have  you  any  notion  where 
you  are  going  or  what  you'll  do?" 

North  shook  his  head. 

"Oh,  you'll  get  into  something!"  the  lawyer  en- 
couraged.    "When  shall  you  see  McBride?" 

"This  afternoon.    Why?" 

"I  was  going  to  say  that  I  was  just  there  with  At- 


24       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

kinson.  He  and  McBride  have  been  in  a  timber 
speculation,  and  Atkinson  handed  over  three  thou- 
sand dollars  in  cash  to  the  old  man.  I  suppose  he  has 
banked  it  in  some  heap  of  scrap-iron  on  the  prem- 
ises !"  said  Langham  laughing. 

"I  think  I  shall  go  there  now,"  resolved  North. 
While  he  was  speaking  he  had  moved  to  the  door 
leading  into  the  hall,  and  had  opened  it. 

"Hold  on,  John !"  said  Langham,  detaining  him. 
"Evelyn  is  home.  She  came  quite  unexpectedly  to- 
day ;  you  won't  leave  town  without  getting  up  to  the 
house  to  see  her?" 

"I  think  I  shall,"  replied  North  hastily.  "I  much 
prefer  not  to  say  good-by." 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  cried  Langham. 

"No,  'Marsh,  I  don't  intend  to  say  good-by  to  any 
one !"    North  quietly  turned  back  into  the  room. 

"I  had  intended  having  you  up  to  the  house  to- 
night for  a  blow-out,"  urged  Langham,  but  North 
shook  his  head.  "You  and  Gilmore,  Jack;  and  by 
the  way,  this  puts  me  in  a  nice  hole !  I  have  already 
asked  Gilmore,  and  he's  coming.  Now,  how  the  devil 
am  I  to  get  out  of  it?  I  can't  spring  him  alone  on 
the  family  circle,  and  I  don't  want  to  hurt  his  feel- 
ings!" 

"Call  it  off,  Marsh;  say  I  couldn't  come;  that's 
a  good  enough  excuse  to  give  Gilmore.  Why,  that 
fellow's  a  common  card-sharp,  you  can't  ask  Evelyn 
to  meet  him !" 

A  slight  noise  in  the  hall   caused  both  men  to 


THE    PRICE    OF    FOLLY  25 

glance  toward  the  door,  where  they  saw  just  beyond 
the  threshold  the  swarthy-faced  Gilmore. 

There  was  a  brief  embarrassed  silence,  and  then 
North  nodded  to  the  new-comer,  but  the  salutation 
was  not  returned. 

"Well,  good-by,  Marsh !"  he  said,  and  turned  to 
the  door.  As  he  brushed  past  the  gambler  their  eyes 
met  for  an  instant,  and  in  that  instant  Gilmore's  face 
turned  livid  with  rage. 

"I'll  fix  you  for  that,  so  help  me  God,  I  will!" 
he  said,  but  North  made  no  answer.  He  passed  down 
the  hall,  down  the  stairs,  and  out  into  the  street. 

McBride's  was  directly  opposite  on  the  corner  of 
High  Street  and  the  Square ;  a  mean  two-story  struc- 
ture of  frame,  across  the  shabby  front  of  which  hung 
a  shabby  creaking  sign  bearing  witness  that  within 
might  be  found :  "Archibald  McBride,  Hardware 
and  Cutlery,  Implements  and  Bar  Iron."  McBride 
had  kept  store  on  that  corner  time  out  of  mind. 

He  was  an  austere  unapproachable  old  man,  hav- 
ing no  relatives  of  whom  any  one  knew;  with  few 
friends  and  fewer  intimates;  a  rich  man,  according 
to  the  Mount  Hope  standard,  and  a  miser  according 
to  the  Mount  Hope  gossip,  with  the  miser's  tradi- 
tional suspicion  of  banks.  It  was  rumored  that  he 
had  hidden  away  vast  sums  of  money  in  his  dingy 
store,  or  in  the  closely-shuttered  rooms  above,  where 
the  odds  and  ends  of  the  merchandise  in  which  he 
dealt  had  accumulated  in  rusty  and  neglected  heaps. 

The  old  man  wore  an  air  of  mystery,  and  this  air 


26       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

of  mystery  extended  to  his  place  of  business.  It  was 
dark  and  dirty  and  ill-kept.  On  the  brightest  sum- 
mer day  the  sunlight  stole  vaguely  in  through  grimy 
cobwebbed  windows.  The  dust  of  years  had  settled 
deep  on  unused  shelves  and  in  abandoned  corners, 
and  whole  days  were  said  to  pass  when  no  one  but 
the  ancient  merchant  himself  entered  the  building. 
Yet  in  spite  of  the  trade  that  had  gone  elsewhere  he 
had  grown  steadily  richer  year  by  year. 

When  North  entered  the  store  he  found  McBride 
busy  with  his  books  in  his  small  back  office,  a  lean 
black  cat  asleep  on  the  desk  at  his  elbow. 

''Good  afternoon,  John  !"  said  the  old  merchant  as 
he  turned  from  his  high  desk,  removing  as  he  did  so 
a  pair  of  heavy  steel-rimmed  spectacles  that  domi- 
nated a  high-bridged  nose  which  in  turn  dominated 
a  wrinkled  and  angular  face. 

"I  thought  I  should  find  you  here!"  said  North. 

"You'll  always  find  me  here  of  a  week-day,"  and 
he  gave  the  young  fellow  the  fleeting  suggestion  of 
a  smile.  He  had  a  liking  for  North,  whose  father, 
years  before,  had  been  one  of  the  few  friends  he  had 
made  in  Mount  Hope. 

The  Norths  had  been  among  the  town's  earliest 
settlers,  John's  grandfather  having  taken  his  place 
among  the  pioneers  when  Mount  Hope  had  little  but 
its  name  to  warrant  its  place  on  the  map.  At  his 
death  Stephen,  his  only  son,  assumed  the  family 
headship,  married,  toiled,  thrived  and  finished  his 
course  following  his  wife  to  the  old  burying-ground 


THE    PRICE    OF    FOLLY  27 

after  a  few  lonely  heart-breaking  months,  and  leav- 
ing John  without  kin,  near  or  far,  but  with  a  good 
name  and  fair  riches. 

"I  have  brought  you  those  gas  bonds,  Mr.  Mc- 
BrWe,"  said  North,  going  at  once  to  the  purpose  of 
his  visit. 

The  old  merchant  nodded  understandingly. 

"I  hope  you  can  arrange  to  let  me  have  the  money 
for  them  to-day,"  continued  North. 

"I  think  I  can  manage  it,  John.  Atkinson  and 
Judge  Langham's  boy,  Marsh,  were  just  here  and 
left  a  bit  of  cash.  Maybe  I  can  make  up  the  sum." 
While  he  was  speaking,  he  had  gone  to  the  safe 
which  stood  open  in  one  corner  of  the  small  office. 

In  a  moment  he  returned  to  the  desk  with  a  roll 
of  bills  in  his  hands  which  he  counted  lovingly,  plac- 
ing them,  one  by  one,  in  a  neat  pile  before  him. 

"You're  still  in  the  humor  to  go  away?"  he  asked,, 
when  he  had  finished  counting  the  money. 

"Never  more  so !"  said  North  briefly. 

"What  do  you  think  of  young  Langham,  John? 
Will  he  ever  be  as  sharp  a  lawyer  as  the  judge?" 

"He's  counted  very  brilliant,"  evaded  North. 

He  rather  dreaded  the  old  merchant  when  his  love 
of  gossip  got  the  better  of  his  usual  reserve. 

"I  hadn't  seen  the  fellow  in  months  to  speak  to 
until  to-day.  He's  a  clever  talker  and  has  a  taking 
way  with  him,  but  if  the  half  I  hear  is  true,  he's 
going  the  devil's  own  gait.  He's  a  pretty  good  friend 
to  Andy  Gilmore,  ain't  he — that  horse-racing,  card- 


28       THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

playing  neighbor  of  yours?"  He  pushed  the  bills 
toward  North.  "Run  them  over,  John,  and  see  if  I 
have  made  any  mistake."  He  slipped  off  his  glasses 
again  and  fell  to  polishing  them  with  his  handker- 
chief.  "It's  all  right,  John?"  he  asked  at  length. 

"Yes,  quite  right,  thank  you."  And  North  pro- 
duced the  bonds  from  an  inner  pocket  of  his  coat  and 
handed  them  to  McBride. 

"So  you  are  going  to  get  out  of  this  place,  John? 
You're  going  West,  you  say.  What  will  you  do 
there?"  asked  the  old  merchant  as  he  carefully  ex- 
amined the  bonds. 

"I  don't  know  yet." 

"I'm  trusting  you're  through  with  your  folly, 
John;  that  your  crop  of  wild  oats  is  in  the  ground. 
You've  made  a  grand  sowing!" 

"I  have,"  answered  North,  laughing  in  spite  of 
himself. 

"You'll  be  empty-handed  I'm  thinking,  but  for  the 
money  you  take  from  here." 

"Very  nearly  so." 

"How  much  have  you  gone  through  with,  John, 
do  you  mind  rightly  ?" 

"Fifteen  or  twenty  thousand  dollars." 

"A  nice  bit  of  money!"  He  shook  his  head  and 
chuckled  dryly.  "It's  enough  to  make  your  father 
turn  in  his  grave.  He's  said  to  me  many  a  time  when 
he  was  a  bit  close  in  his  dealings  with  me,  'I'm  sav- 
ing for  my  boy,  Archie.'  Eh?  But  it  ain't  always 
three  generations  from  shirt-sleeves  to  shirt-sleeves; 


THE    PRICE    OF    FOLLY  29 

you've  made  a  short  cut  of  it !  But  you're  going  to  do 
the  wise  thing,  John;  you've  been  a  fool  here,  now 
go  away  and  be  a  man !  Let  all  devilishness  alone 
and  work  hard ;  that's  the  antidote  for  idleness,  and 
it's  overmuch  of  idleness  that's  been  your  ruin." 

"I  imagine  it  is,"  said  North  cheerfully. 

"You'll  be  making  a  clever  man  out  of  yourself, 
John,"  McBride  continued  graciously.  "Not  a  flash 
in  the  pan  like  your  friend  Marshall  Langham  yon- 
der. It's  drink  will  do  for  him  the  same  as  it  did  for 
his  grandfather,  it's  in  the  blood ;  but  that  was  before 
your  time." 

"I've  heard  of  him;  a  remarkably  able  lawyer, 
wasn't  he?" 

"Pooh !  You'll  hear  a  plenty  of  nonsense  talked, 
and  by  very  sensible  people,  too,  about  most  drunken 
fools!  He  was  a  spender  and  a  profligate,  was  old 
Marshall  Langham;  a  tavern  loafer,  but  a  man  of 
parts.  Yes,  he  had  a  bit  of  a  brain,  when  he  was  so- 
ber and  of  a  mind  to  use  it." 

One  would  scarcely  have  supposed  that  Archibald 
McBride,  silent,  taciturn,  money-loving,  possessed 
the  taste  for  scandal  that  North  knew  he  did  possess. 
The  old  merchant  continued  garrulously. 

"They  are  a  bad  lot,  John,  those  Langhams,  but  it 
took  the  smartest  one  of  the  whole  tribe  to  get  the 
better  of  me.  I  never  told  you  that  before,  did  I  ?  It 
was  old  Marshall  himself,  and  he  flattered  me  into 
loaning  him  a  matter  of  a  hundred  dollars  once;  I 
guess  I  have  his  note  somewhere  yet    But  I  swore 


30       THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

then  I'd  have  no  more  dealings  with  any  of  them, 
and  I'm  likely  to  keep  my  word  as  long  as  I  keep 
my  senses.  It's  the  little  things  that  prick  the  skin; 
that  make  a  man  bitter.  I  suppose  the  judge's  boy 
has  had  his  hand  in  your  pocket?  He  looks  like  a 
man  who'd  be  free  enough  with  another's  purse." 

But  North  shook  his  head. 

"No,  no,  I  have  only  myself  to  blame,"  he  said. 

"What  do  you  hear  of  his  wife?  How's  the  mar- 
riage turning  out?"  and  he  shot  the  young  fellow  a 
shrewd  questioning  glance. 

"I  know  nothing  about  it,"  replied  North,  coloring 
slightly. 

"She'll  hardly  be  publishing  to  the  world  that 
she's  married  a  drunken  profligate — " 

This  did  not  seem  to  North  to  call  for  an  answer, 
and  he  attempted  none.  He  turned  and  moved 
toward  the  front  of  the  store  followed  by  the  old 
merchant.   At  the  door  he  paused. 

"Thank  you  for  your  kindness,  Mr.  McBride !" 

"It  was  no  kindness,  just  a  matter  of  business," 
said  McBride  hastily.  "I'm  no  philanthropist,  John, 
but  just  a  plain  man  of  business  who'll  drive  a  close 
bargain  if  he  can." 

"At  any  rate,  I'm  going  to  thank  you,"  insisted 
North,  smiling  pleasantly.  "Good-by,"  and  he  ex- 
tended his  hand,  which  the  old  merchant  took. 

"Good-by,  and  good  luck  to  you,  John,  and  you 
might  drop  me  a  line  now  and  then  just  to  say  how 
you  get  on." 


THE    PRICE    OF    FOLLY  31 

"I  will.    Good-by!" 

"I  know  you'll  succeed,  John.  A  bit  of  applica- 
tion, a  bit  of  necessity  to  spur  you  on,  and  we'll  be 
proud  of  you  yetl" 

North  laughed  as  he  opened  the  door  and  stepped 
out;  and  Archibald  McBride,  looking  through  his 
dingy  show-windows,  watched  him  until  he  disap- 
peared down  the  street;  then  he  turned  and  reen- 
tered his  office. 

Meanwhile  North  hurried  away  with  the  remnant 
of  his  little  fortune  in  his  pocket.  Five  minutes'  walk 
brought  him  to  the  building  that  had  sheltered  him 
for  the  last  few  years.  He  climbed  the  stairs  and 
entered  the  long  hall  above.  He  paused,  key  in 
hand,  before  his  door,  when  he  heard  behind  him  a 
light  footfall  on  the  uncarpeted  floor  and  the  swish 
of  a  woman's  skirts.  As  he  turned  abruptly,  the 
woman  who  had  evidently  followed  him  up  from  the 
street,  came  swiftly  down  the  hall  toward  him. 

"Jack !"  she  said,  when  she  was  quite  near. 

The  short  winter's  day  had  brought  an  early  twi- 
light to  the  place,  and  the  woman  was  closely  veiled, 
but  the  moment  she  spoke  North  recognized  her,  for 
there  was  something  in  the  mellow  full-throated 
quality  of  her  speech  which  belonged  only  to  one 
voice  that  he  knew. 

"Mrs.  Langham  ! — Evelyn  !"  he  exclaimed,  start- 
ing back  in  dismay. 

"Hush,  Jack,  you  needn't  call  it  from  the  house- 
tops !"    As  she  spoke  she  swept  aside  her  veil  and  he 


32        THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

saw  her  face,  a  superlatively  pretty  face  with  scarlet 
smiling  lips  and  dark  luminous  eyes  that  were  smil- 
ing, too. 

"Do  you  want  to  see  me,  Evelyn?"  he  asked  awk- 
wardly. 

But  she  was  neither  awkward  nor  embarrassed; 
she  was  still  smiling  up  into  his  face  with  reckless 
eyes  and  brilliant  lips.  She  pointed  to  the  door  with 
her  small  gloved  hand. 

"Open  it,  Jack!"  she  commanded. 

For  a  moment  he  hesitated.  She  was  the  one  per- 
son he  did  not  wish  to  see,  least  of  all  did  he  wish  to 
see  her  there.  She  was  not  nicely  discreet,  as  he 
well  knew.  She  did  many  things  that  were  not  wise, 
that  were,  indeed,  frankly  imprudent.  But  clearly 
they  could  not  stand  there  in  the  hallway.  Gilmore 
or  some  of  Gilmore's  friends  might  come  up  the 
stairs  at  any  moment.  Langham  himself  might  be 
of  these. 

Something  of  all  this  passed  through  North's 
mind  as  he  stood  there  hesitating.  Then  he  unlocked 
the  door,  and  standing  aside,  motioned  her  to  pre- 
cede him  into  the  room. 

This  room,  the  largest  of  several  he  occupied,  was 
his  parlor.  On  entering  it  he  closed  the  door  after 
him,  and  drew  forward  a  chair  for  Evelyn,  but  he 
did  not  himself  sit  down,  nor  did  he  remove  his 
overcoat. 

He  had  known  Evelyn  all  his  life,  they  had  played 
together  as  children;  more  than  this,  though  now 


THE    PRICE    OF    FOLLY  33 

he  would  have  been  quite  willing  to  forget  the 
whole  episode  and  even  more  than  willing  that  she 
should  forget  it,  there  had  been  a  time  when  he  had 
moped  in  wretched  melancholy  because  of  what  he 
had  then  considered  her  utter  fickleness.  Shortly 
after  this  he  had  been  sent  East  to  college  and  had 
borne  the  separation  with  a  fortitude  that  had  rather 
surprised  him  when  he  recalled  how  bitter  a  thing 
her  heartlessness  had  seemed. 

When  they  met  again  he  had  found  her  more  al- 
luring than  ever,  but  more  devoted  to  her  pleas- 
ures also;  and  then  Marshall  Langham  had  come  in- 
to her  life.  North  had  divined  that  the  course  of 
their  love-making  was  far  from  smooth,  for  Lang- 
ham's  temper  was  high  and  his  will  arbitrary,  nor 
was  he  one  to  bear  meekly  the  crosses  she  laid  on 
him,  crosses  which  other  men  had  borne  in  smiling 
uncomplaint,  reasoning  no  doubt,  that  it  was  unwise 
to  take  her  favors  too  seriously;  that  as  they  were 
easily  achieved  they  were  quite  as  easily  forfeited. 
But  Langham  was  not  like  the  other  men  with  whom 
she  had  amused  herself.  He  was  not  only  older  and 
more  brilliant,  but  was  giving  every  indication  that 
his  professional  success  would  be  solid  and  substan- 
tial. Evelyn's  father  had  championed  his  cause,  and 
in  the  end  she  had  married  him. 

In  the  five  years  that  had  elapsed  since  then,  her 
romance  had  taken  its  place  with  the  accepted  things 
of  life,  and  she  revenged  herself  on  Langham,  for 
what  she  had  come  to  consider  his  unreasonable  ex- 


34       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

actions,  by  her  recklessness,  by  her  thirst  for  pleas- 
ure, and  above  all  by  her  extravagance. 

Through  all  the  vicissitudes  of  her  married  life, 
the  smallest  part  of  which  he  only  guessed,  North 
had  seen  much  of  Evelyn.  There  was  a  daring  dan- 
gerous recklessness  in  her  mood  that  he  had  sensed 
and  understood  and  to  which  he  had  made  quick  re- 
sponse. He  knew  that  she  was  none  too  happy  with 
Langham,  and  although  he  had  been  conscious  of  no 
wish  to  wrong  the  husband  he  had  never  paused  to 
consider  the  outcome  of  his  intimacy  with  the  wife. 

Evelyn  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"You  wonder  why  I  came  here,  don't  you,  Jack?" 
she  said. 

"You  should  never  have  done  it!"  he  replied 
quickly. 

"What  about  my  letters,  why  didn't  you  answer 
them?"  she  demanded.  "I  hadn't  one  word  from 
you  in  weeks.  It  quite  spoiled  my  trip  East.  What 
was  I  to  think?  And  then  you  sent  me  just  a  line 
saying  you  were  leaving  Mount  Hope — "  she  drew 
in  her  breath  sharply.  There  was  a  brief  silence. 
"Why?"  she  asked  at  length. 

"It  is  better  that  I  should,"  he  answered  awk- 
wardly. 

He  felt  a  sudden  remorseful  tenderness  for  her;  he 
wished  that  she  might  have  divined  the  change  that 
had  come  over  him ;  even  how  worthless  a  thing  his 
devotion  had  been,  the  utter  selfishness  of  it. 

"Why   is   it  better?"   she   asked.     He   was   near 


THE    PRICE    OF    FOLLY  35 

enough  for  her  to  put  out  a  small  hand  and  rest  it 
on  his  arm.  "Jack,  have  I  done  anything  to  make 
you  hate  me?    Don't  you  care  any  longer  for  me?" 

"I  care  a  great  deal,  Evelyn.  I  want  you  to  think 
the  best  of  me." 

"But  why  do  you  go?  And  when  do  you  think  of 
going,  Jack?"  The  hand  that  she  had  rested  there  a 
moment  before,  left  his  arm  and  dropped  at  her  side. 

"I  don't  know  yet,  my  plans  are  very  uncertain. 
I  am  quite  at  the  end  of  my  money.  I  have  been  a 
good  deal  of  a  fool,  Evelyn." 

Something  in  his  manner  restrained  her,  she 
was  not  so  sure  as  she  had  been  of  her  hold  on  him. 
She  looked  up  appealingly  into  his  face,  the  smile 
had  left  her  lips  and  her  eyes  were  sad,  but  he 
mistrusted  the  genuineness  of  this  swift  change  of 
mood,  certainly  its  permanence. 

"What  will  there  be  left  for  me,  Jack,  when  you 
go?   I  thought — I  thought — "  her  full  lips  quivered. 

She  was  realizing  that  this  separation  which  her 
imagination  had  already  invested  with  a  tragic  sig- 
nificance, meant  much  less  to  him  than  she  believed 
it  would  mean  to  her;  more  than  this,  the  cruel  sus- 
picion was  certifying  itself  that  in  her  absence  from 
Mount  Hope,  North  had  undergone  some  strange 
transformation ;  was  no  longer  the  reckless,  dissi- 
pated, young  fellow  who  for  months  had  been  as  her 
very  shadow. 

"I  am  going  to-night,  Evelyn,"  he  said  with  sud- 
den determination, 


36       THE    JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

She  gave  a  half  smothered  cry. 

''To-night!  To-night !"  she  repeated. 

He  changed  his  position  uncomfortably. 

"I  am  at  the  end  of  my  string,  Evelyn,"  he  said 
slowly. 

"I — I  shall  miss  you  dreadfully,  Jack!  You  know 
I  am  frightfully  unhappy ;  what  will  it  be  when  you 
go  ?    Marsh  has  made  a  perfect  wreck  of  my  life  I" 

"Nonsense,  Evelyn !"  he  replied  bruskly.  "You 
must  be  careful  what  you  say  to  me !" 

"I  haven't  been  careful  before!"  she  asserted. 

He  bit  his  lips.    She  went  swiftly  on. 

"I  have  told  you  everything!  I  don't  care  what 
happens  to  me — you  know  I  don't,  Jack!  I  am 
deadly  desperately  tired!"  She  paused,  then  she 
cried  vehemently.  "One  endures  a  situation  as  long 
as  one  can,  but  there  comes  a  time  when  it  is  impos- 
sible to  go  on  with  the  falsehood  any  longer,  and  I 
have  reached  that  time !  It  is  my  life,  my  happiness 
that  are  at  stake!" 

"Sometimes  it  is  better  to  do  without  happiness," 
he  philosophized. 

"That  is  silly,  Jack,  no  one  believes  that  sort  of 
thing  any  more;  but  it  is  good  to  teach  to  women 
and  children,  it  saves  a  lot  of  bother,  I  suppose.  But 
men  take  their  happiness  regardless  of  the  rights  of 
others !" 

"Not  always,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  always !"  she  insisted. 


THE    PRICE    OF    FOLLY  37 

"But  you  knew  what  Marsh  was  before  you  mar- 
ried him." 

"It's  a  woman's  vanity  to  believe  she  can  reform, 
can  control  a  man."  She  glanced  at  him  furtively. 
What  had  happened  to  change  him  ?  Always  until 
now  he  had  responded  to  the  recklessness  of  her 
mood,  he  had  seemed  to  understand  her  without  the 
need  of  words.  Her  brows  met  in  an  angry  frown. 
Was  he  a  coward?  Did  he  fear  Marshall  Langham? 
Once  more  she  rested  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "Jack, 
dear  Jack,  are  you  going  to  fail  me,  too?" 

"What  would  you  have  me  say  or  do,  Evelyn?" 
he  demanded  impatiently. 

She  regarded  him  sadly. 

"What  has  made  you  change,  Jack?  What  is  it; 
what  have  I  done?  Why  did  you  not  answer  my 
letters  ?    Why  did  you  not  come  to  see  me  ?" 

"I  only  learned  that  you  were  in  town  this  after- 
noon," he  said. 

"Yes,  but  you  had  no  intention  of  coming,  I  know 
you  hadn't !  You  would  have  left  Mount  Hope  with- 
out even  a  good-by  to  me!" 

"It  is  hard  enough  to  have  to  go,  Evelyn !" 

"It  isn't  that,  Jack.  What  have  I  done?  How 
have  I  displeased  you?" 

"You  haven't  displeased  me,  Evelyn,"  he  faltered. 

"Then  why  have  you  treated  me  as  you  have?" 

"I  thought  it  would  be  easier,"  he  said. 

"Have  you  forgotten  what  friends  we  were  once?" 


38       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

she  asked  softly.  "You  always  helped  me  out  of  my 
difficulties  then,  and  you  told  me  once  that  you  cared 
— a  great  deal  for  me,  more  than  you  should  ever 
care  for  any  woman !" 

"Yes,"  he  answered  shortly,  and  was  silent. 

He  would  scarcely  have  admitted  to  himself  how 
toolish  his  early  passion  had  been,  for  it  was  at  least 
sincere  and  there  could  have  been  no  sacrifice,  at  one 
time,  that  he  would  not  have  willingly  made  for  her 
sake.  His  later  sentiment  for  her  had  been  a  dis- 
gracing and  a  disgraceful  thing,  and  he  was  glad  to 
think  of  this  boyish  love,  since  it  carried  him  back  to 
a  time  before  he  had  wrought  only  misery  for  him- 
self. She  misunderstood  his  reticence,  she  could  not 
realize  that  she  had  lost  the  power  that  had  once 
been  hers. 

"What  a  mistake  I  made,  Jack!"  she  cried,  and 
stretched  out  her  hands  toward  him. 

He  fell  back  a  step. 

"Nonsense!"  he  said.    He  glanced  sharply  at  her. 

"How  stupid  you  are !"  she  exclaimed. 

She  half  rose  from  her  chair  with  her  hands  still 
extended  toward  him.  For  a  moment  he  met  her 
glance,  and  then,  disgusted  and  ashamed,  withdrew 
his  eyes  from  hers. 

Evelyn  sank  back  in  her  chair,  and  her  face  turned 
white  and  she  covered  it  with  her  hands.  North  was 
the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"We  would  both  of  us  better  forget  this,"  he  said 
quietly. 


THE    PRICE    OF    FOLLY  39 

She  rose  and  stood  at  his  side.  The  color  had  re- 
turned to  her  cheeks. 

"What  a  fool  you  are,  John  North!"  she  jeered 
softly.  "And  I  might  have  made  the  tragic  mistake 
of  really  caring  for  you !"  She  gave  a  little  shiver 
of  dismay,  and  then  after  a  moment's  tense  silence : 
"What  a  boy  you  are, — almost  as  much  of  a  boy  as 
when  we  used  to  play  together." 

"I  think  there  is  nothing  more  to  say,  Evelyn," 
North  said  shortly.  "It  is  growing  late.  You  must 
not  be  seen  leaving  here !" 

She  laughed. 

"Oh,  it  would  take  a  great  deal  to  compromise 
me;  though  if  Marsh  ever  finds  out  that  I  have  been 
here  he'll  be  ready  to  kill  me!"  But  she  still  lin- 
gered, still  seemed  to  invite. 

North  was  silent. 

"You  must  be  in  love,  Jack!  You  see,  I'll  not 
grant  that  you  are  the  saint  you'd  have  me  think 
you  !  Yes,  you  are  in  love  !"  for  he  colored  angrily  at 
her  words.    "Is  it — " 

He  interrupted  her  harshly. 

"Don't  speak  her  name!" 

"Then  it  is  true!  I'd  heard  that  you  were,  but  I 
did  not  believe  it !  Yes,  you  are  right,  we  must  for- 
get that  I  came  here  to-day." 

While  she  was  speaking  she  had  moved  toward 
the  door,  and  instinctively  he  had  stepped  past  her 
to  open  it.  When  he  turned  with  his  hand  on  the 
knob,  it  brought  them  again  face  to  face.   The  smile 


40       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

had  left  her  lips,  they  were  mere  delicate  lines  of 
color.  She  raised  herself  on  tiptoe  and  her  face, 
gray-white,  was  very  close  to  his. 

"What  a  fool  you  are,  Jack,  what  a  coward  you 
must  be !"  and  she  struck  him  on  the  cheek  with  her 
gloved  hand.    "You  are  a  coward !"  she  cried. 

His  face  grew  as  white  as  her  own,  and  he  did  not 
trust  himself  to  speak.  She  gave  him  a  last  con- 
temptuous glance  and  drew  her  veil. 

"Now  open  the  door,"  she  said  insolently. 

He  did  so,  and  she  brushed  past  him  swiftly  and 
stepped  out  into  the  long  hall.  For  a  moment  North 
stood  staring  after  her,  and  then  he  closed  the  door. 


CHAPTER  THREE 

STRANGE  BEDFELLOWS 

WHEN  North  quitted  Marshall  Langham's 
office,  Gilmore,  after  a  brief  instant  of  ir- 
resolution, stepped  into  the  room.  He  was  crudely 
handsome,  a  powerfully-built  man  of  about  Lang- 
ham's  own  age,  swarthy-faced  and  with  ruthless  lips 
showing  red  under  a  black  waxed  mustache.  His 
hat  was  inclined  at  a  "sporty"  angle  and  the  cigar 
which  he  held  firmly  between  his  strong  even  teeth 
was  tilted  in  the  same  .direction,  imparting  a  rakish 
touch  to  Mr.  Gilmore's  otherwise  sturdy  and  aggres- 
sive presence. 

"Howdy,  Marsh !"  said  his  new-comer  easily. 

From  his  seat  before  his  desk  Langham  scowled 
across  at  him. 

"What  the  devil  brings  you  here,  Andy?"  he 
asked,  ungraciously  enough. 

Gilmore  buried  his  hands  deep  in  his  trousers 
pockets  and  with  one  eye  half  closed  surveyed  the 
lawyer  over  the  tip  of  his  tilted  cigar. 

"You're  a  civil  cuss,  Marsh,"  he  said  lightly,  "but 
one  wouldn't  always  know  it.  Ain't  I  a  client, 
ain't  I  a  friend, — and  damn  it  all,  man,  ain't  I  a 

41 


42       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

creditor?  There  are  three  excuses,  any  one  of  which 
is  sufficient  to  bring  me  into  your  esteemed  pres- 
ence!" 

"We  may  as  well  omit  the  first/'  growled  Lang- 
ham,  wheeling  his  chair  back  from  the  desk  and  fac- 
ing Gilmore. 

"Why?"  asked  Gilmore,  lazily  tolerant  of  the 
other's  mood. 

"Because  there  is  nothing  more  that  I  can  do  for 
you,"  said  Langham  shortly. 

"Oh,  yes  there  is,  Marsh,  there's  a  whole  lot  more 
you  can  do  for  me.  There's  Moxlow,  the  distin- 
guished prosecuting  attorney ;  without  you  to  talk 
sense  to  him  he's  liable  to  listen  to  all  sorts  of  queer 
people  who  take  more  interest  in  my  affairs  than  is 
good  for  them;  but  as  long  as  he's  got  you  at  his 
elbow  he  won't  forget  my  little  stake  in  his  election." 

"If  you  wish  him  not  to  forget  it,  you'd  better  not 
be  so  particular  in  reminding  him  of  it;  he'll  get  sick 
of  you  and  your  concerns!"  retorted  Langham. 

Gilmore  laughed. 

"I  ain't  going  to  remind  him  of  it;  what  have  I 
got  you  for,  Marsh?  It's  your  job."  He  took  a  step 
nearer  Langham  while  his  black  brows  met  in  a  sul- 
len frown.  "I  know  I  ain't  popular  here  in  Mount 
Hope,  I  know  there  are  plenty  of  people  who'd  like 
to  see  me  run  out  of  town ;  but  I'm  no  quitter,  they'll 
find.  It  suits  me  to  stay  here,  and  they  can't  touch 
me  if  Moxlow  won't  have  it.  That's  your  job,  that's 
what  I  hire  you  for.,  Marsh;  you're  Moxlow's  part- 


STRANGE    BEDFELLOWS  43 

ner,  you're  your  father's  son,  it's  up  to  you  to  see  I 
ain't  interfered  with.  Don't  tell  me  you  can't  do 
anything  more  for  me.     I  won't  have  it !" 

Langham's  face  was  red,  and  his  eyes  blazed  an- 
grily, but  Gilmore  met  his  glance  with  a  look  of 
stern  insistence  that  could  not  be  misunderstood. 

"I  have  done  what  I  could  for  you,"  the  lawyer 
said  at  last,  choking  down  his  rage. 

"Oh,  go  to  hell !  You  know  you  haven't  hurt  your- 
self," said  Gilmore  insolently. 

"Well,  then,  why  do  you  come  here?"  demanded 
Langham. 

"Same  old  business,  Marsh."  He  lounged  across 
the  room  and  dropped,  yawning,  into  a  chair  near 
the  window. 

There  was  silence  between  them  for  a  little  space. 
Langham  fussed  with  the  papers  on  his  desk,  while 
Gilmore  squinted  at  him  over  the  end  of  his  cigar. 

"Same  old  business,  Marsh!"  Gilmore  repeated 
lazily.  "What's  the  enemy  up  to,  anyhow  ?  Are  the 
good  people  of  Mount  Hope  worrying  Moxlow?  Is 
their  sleepless  activity  going  to  interfere  with  my 
sleepless  profession,  eh?   Can  you  answer  me  that?" 

"Moxlow  has  cut  the  office  of  late,"  said  Langham 
briefly. 

"He's  happened  on  a  good  thing  in  the  prosecut- 
ing attorney's  office,  I  suppose?  It's  a  pity  you 
didn't  strike  out  for  that,  Marsh  ;  you'd  have  been  of 
some  use  to  your  friends  if  you'd  got  the  job." 

"Not  necessarily,"  said  Langham. 


44       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Well,  when's  Moxlow  going  after  me?"  inquired 
Gilmore. 

"I  haven't  heard  him  say.     He  told  me  he  had 

sufficient  evidence  for  your  indictment." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  agreed  Gilmore  placidly. 

"I  guess  yours  is  a  case  for  the  next  grand  jury!" 

"So  Moxlow's  in  earnest  about  wishing  to  make 
trouble  for  me?"  said  Gilmore,  still  placidly. 

"Oh,  he's  in  earnest,  all  right"  Langham 
shrugged  his  shoulders  petulantly.  "He'll  go  after 
you,  and  perhaps  by  the  time  he's  done  with  you 
you'll  wish  you'd  taken  my  advice  and  made  yourself 
scarce!" 

"I'm  no  quitter!"  rejoined  Gilmore,  chewing 
thoughtfully  at  the  end  of  his  cigar. 

"By  all  means  stay  in  Mount  Hope  if  you  think 
it's  worth  your  while,"  said  Langham  indifferently. 

"Can  you  give  me  some  definite  idea  as  to  when 
the  fun  begins?" 

"No,  but  it  will  be  soon  enough,  Andy.  He  wants 
the  support  of  the  best  element.  He  can't  afford  to 
offend  it." 

"And  he  knows  you  are  my  lawyer?"  asked  Gil- 
more still  thoughtfully. 

"Of  course." 

"Ain't  that  going  to  cut  any  figure  with  him?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"Is  that  so,  Marsh?"  He  crossed  his  legs  and 
nursed  an  ankle  with  both  hands.  "Well,  somebody 
ought  to  lose  Moxlow, — take  him  out  and  forget  to 


STRANGE    BEDFELLOWS  45 

find  him  again.  He's  much  too  good  for  this  world ; 
it  ain't  natural.  He's  about  the  only  man  of  his  age 
in  Mount  Hope  who  ain't  drifted  into  my  rooms  at 
one  time  or  another."  He  paused  and  took  the  cigar 
from  between  his  teeth.  "You  call  him  off,  Marsh, 
make  him  agree  to  let  me  alone;  ain't  there  such  a 
thing  as  friendship  in  this  profession  of  yours?" 

Langham  shook  his  head,  and  again  Gilmore's 
black  brows  met  in  a  frown.  He  made  a  contemptu- 
ous gesture. 

"You're  a  hell  of  a  lawyer !"  he  sneered. 

"Be  careful  what  you  say  to  me !"  cried  Langham, 
suddenly  giving  way  to  the  feeling  of  rage  that  un- 
til now  he  had  held  in  check. 

"Oh,  I'm  careful  enough.  I  guess  if  you  stop  to 
think  a  minute  you'll  understand  you  got  to  take 
what  I  choose  to  say  as  I  choose  to  say  it !" 

Langham  sprang  to  his  feet  shaking  with  anger. 

"No,  by — "  he  began  hoarsely. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Gilmore  coldly.  "You  can't  af- 
ford to  row  with  me;  anyhow,  I  ain't  going  to  row 
with  you.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you  and  what 
I  expect  of  you,  so  sit  down !" 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Gilmore  gazed  out  the 
window.  He  seemed  to  watch  the  hurrying  snow- 
flakes  with  no  interest  in  Langham  who  was  still 
standing  by  his  desk,  with  one  shaking  hand  resting 
on  the  back  of  his  chair.  Presently  the  lawyer  re- 
sumed his  seat  and  Gilmore  turned  toward  him. 

"Don't  talk  about  my  quitting  here,  Marsh,"  he 


46       THE   JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

said  menacingly.  "That's  the  kind  of  legal  advice  I 
won't  have  from  you  or  any  one  else." 

"You  may  as  well  make  up  your  mind  first  as  last 
to  it,"  said  Langham,  not  regarding  what  Gilmore 
had  just  said.  "I  can't  keep  Moxlow  quiet  any 
longer;  the  sentiment  of  the  community  is  against 
gamblers.    If  you  are  not  a  gambler,  what  are  you  ?" 

"You  mean  you  are  going  to  throw  me  over,  you 
two?" 

"With  Moxlow  it  is  a  case  of  bread  and  butter; 
personally  I  don't  care  whom  you  fleece,  but  I've  got 
my  living  to  make  here  in  Mount  Hope,  too,  and  I 
can't  afford  to  go  counter  to  public  opinion." 

"You  have'had  some  favors  out  of  me,  Marsh." 

"I  am  not  likely  to  forget  them,  you  give  me  no 
chance,"  rejoined  Langham  bitterly. 

"Why  should  I,  eh?"  asked  Gilmore  coolly.  He 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  stared  at  the  ceiling 
above  his  head.  "Marsh,  what  was  that  North  was 
saying  about  me  when  I  came  down  the  hall?"  and 
his  swarthy  cheeks  were  tinged  with  red. 

"I  don't  recall  that  he  was  speaking  of  you." 

"You  don't?  Well,  think  again.  It  was  about  our 
going  up  to  your  house  to-night,  wasn't  it?  Your 
wife's  back,  eh?  Well,  don't  worry,  I  came  here 
partly  to  tell  you  that  I  had  made  other  arrange- 
ments for  the  evening." 

"It's  just  as  well,"  said  Langham. 

'Do  you  mean  your  wife  wouldn't  receive  me?" 


STRANGE    BEDFELLOWS  47 

demanded  Gilmore.    There  was  a  catch  in  his  voice 
and  a  pallor  in  his  face. 

"I  didn't  say  that" 

Gilmore's  chair  resounded  noisily  on  the  floor  as 
he  came  to  his  feet.     He  strode  to  the  lawyer's  side. 

"Then  what  in  hell  do  you  say  ?"  he  stormed. 

In  spite  of  himself  Langham  quailed  before  the 
gambler's  fury. 

"Oh,  keep  still,  Andy!  What  a  nasty-tempered 
beast  you  are!"  he  said  pacifically. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  Gilmore  resumed  his 
chair,  turning  to  the  window  to  hide  his  emotion ; 
then  slowly  his  scowling  glance  came  back  to  Lang- 
ham. 

"He  said  I  was  a  common  card-sharp,  eh?"  Lang- 
ham  knew  that  he  spoke  of  North.  "Damn  him! 
What  does  he  call  himself?"  He  threw  the  stub  of 
his  cigar  from  him  across  the  room.  "Marsh,  what 
does  your  wife  know  about  me?"  And  again  there 
was  the  catch  to  his  voice. 

Langham  looked  at  him  in  astonishment 

"Know  about  you — my  wife — nothing,"  he  said 
slowly. 

"I  suppose  she's  heard  my  name?"  inquired  the 
gambler. 

"No  doubt." 

"Thinks  I  rob  you  at  cards,  eh?"  But  Langham 
made  no  answer  to  this.  "Thinks  I  take  your  money 
away  from  you,"  continued  the  gambler.    "And  it's 


48       THE   JUST   AND   THE   UNJUST 

your  game  to  let  her  think  that!  I  wonder  what 
she'd  think  if  she  knew  the  account  stood  the  other 
way  about?  I've  been  a  handy  sort  of  a  friend, 
haven't  I,  Marsh  ?  The  sort  you  could  use, — and  you 
have  used  me  up  to  the  limit !  I've  been  good  enough 
to  borrow  money  from,  but  not  good  enough  to  take 
home — " 

"Oh,  come,  Andy,  what's  the  use,"  placated  Lang- 
ham.     "I'm  sorry  if  your  feelings  are  hurt." 

"It's  time  you  and  I  had  a  settlement,  Marsh.  I 
want  you  to  take  up  those  notes  of  yours." 

"I  haven't  the  money !"  said  Langham.  ' 

"Well,  I  can't  wait  on  you  any  longer." 
"I   don't  see  but  that  you'll  have  to,"   retorted 
Langham. 

"I'm  going  to  offer  a  few  inducements  for  haste, 
Marsh.  I'm  going  to  make  you  see  that  it's  worth 
your  while  to  find  that  money  for  me  quick, — under- 
stand? You  owe  me  about  two  thousand  dollars ;  are 
you  fixed  to  turn  it  in  by  the  end  of  the  month  ?" 

The  gambler  bit  off  the  end  of  a  fresh  cigar  and 
held  it  a  moment  between  his  fingers  as  he  gazed  at 
Langham,  waiting  for  his  reply.  The  latter  shook 
his  head  but  said  nothing. 

"Well,  then,  by  George,  I  am  going  to  sue  you !" 

"Because  I  can't  protect  you  longer!" 

"Oh,  to  hell  with  your  protection !    Go  dig  up  the 

money  for  me  or  I'll  raise  a  fuss  here  that'll  hurt 

more  than  one  reputation !   The  notes  are  good,  ain't 

they?" 


STRANGE    BEDFELLOWS  49 

'They  are  good  when  I  have  the  money  to  meet 
them." 

'They  are  good  even  if  you  haven't  the  money  to 
meet  them !  I  guess  Judge  Langham's  indorsement 
is  worth  something,  and  Linscott's  a  rich  man ;  even 
Moxlow's  got  some  property.  Those  are  the  three 
who  are  on  your  paper,  and  the  paper's  considerably 
overdue." 

Langham  turned  a  pale  face  on  the  gambler. 

"You  won't  do  that,  Andy!"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
which  he  vainly  strove  to  hold  steady. 

"Won't  I  ?  Do  you  think  I'm  in  business  for  my 
health?"  And  he  laughed  shortly,  then  he  wheeled 
on  Langham  with  unexpected  fierceness.  "I'll  give 
you  until  the  first  of  the  month,  Marsh,  and  then  I'm 
going  after  you  without  gloves.  I  don't  care  a  damn 
who  squares  the  account;  your  indorsers'  cash  will 
suit  me  as  well  as  your  own."  He  caught  the  ex- 
pression on  Langham's  face,  its  deathly  pallor,  the 
hunted  look  in  his  eyes,  and  paused  suddenly.  The 
shadow  of  a  slow  smile  fixed  itself  at  the  corners  of 
his  mouth,  he  put  out  a  hand  and  rested  it  on  Lang- 
ham's shoulder.  "You  damn  fool!  Have  you  tried 
that  trick  on  me?  I'll  take  those  notes  to  the  bank 
in  the  morning  and  see  if  the  signatures  are  gen- 
uine." 

"Do  it!"  Langham  spoke  in  a  whisper. 

"Maybe  you  think  I  won't!"  sneered  the  gambler. 
"Maybe  you'd  rather  I  didn't,  eh?  It  will  hardly 
suit  you  to  have  me  show  those  notes?" 


5o       THE   JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Do  what  you  like;  whatever  suggests  itself  to  a 
scurvy  whelp  like  you !"  said  Langham. 

Gilmore  merely  grinned  at  this. 

"If  you  are  trying  to  encourage  me  to  smash  you, 
Marsh,  you  have  got  the  right  idea  as  to  how  it  is 
to  be  done."  But  his  tone  was  now  one  of  lazy  good 
nature. 

"Smash  me  then;  I  haven't  the  money  to  pay 
you." 

"Get  it!"  said  Gilmore  tersely. 

"Where?" 

"You  are  asking  too  much  of  me,  Marsh.  If  I 
could  finance  you  I'd  cut  out  cards  in  the  future. 
How  about  the  judge, — no?  Well,  I  just  threw  that 
out  as  a  hint,  but  I  suppose  you  have  been  there  al- 
ready, for  naturally  you'd  compliment  him  by  giv- 
ing him  the  chance  to  pull  you  up  out  of  your  trou- 
bles. Since  your  own  father  won't  help  you,  how 
about  Linscott?  Is  he  going  to  want  to  see  his  son- 
in-law  disgraced?  I  guess  he's  your  best  chance, 
Marsh.  Put  it  on  strong  and  for  once  tell  the  truth. 
Tell  him  you've  dabbled  in  forgery  and  that  it  won't 
work !" 

Langham  had  dropped  back  in  his  chair.  He  was 
seeking  to  devise  some  expedient  that  would  meet 
his  present  difficulties.  His  bondage  to  the  gam- 
bler had  become  intolerable,  anything  would  be 
better  than  a  continuance  of  that.  The  monstrous 
folly  of  those  forgeries  seemed  beyond  anything  he 
could  have  perpetrated  in  his  sober  senses.    He  must 


STRANGE    BEDFELLOWS  51 

have  been  mad !  But  then  he  had  needed  the  money 
desperately. 

He  might  go  to  his  father,  but  he  had  been  to 
him  only  recently,  and  the  judge  himself  was  bur- 
dened with  debt.  He  might  go  to  Mr.  Linscott,  he 
might  even  try  North.  He  could  tell  the  latter  the 
whole  circumstance  and  borrow  a  part  of  what  was 
left  of  his  small  fortune;  of  course  he  was  in  his 
debt  as  it  was,  but  North  would  never  think  of 
that;  he  was  a  man  to  share  his  last  dollar  with  a 
friend. 

He  passed  a  shaking  hand  across  his  eyes.  On 
every  side  the  nightmare  of  his  obligations  con- 
fronted him,  for  who  was  there  that  he  could  owe 
whom  he  did  not  already  owe?  He  was  notorious 
for  his  inability  to  pay  his  debts.  This  notoriety  was 
hurting  his  professional  standing,  and  now  if  Gil- 
more  carried  out  his  threat  he  must  look  forward  to 
the  shame  of  a  public  exposure.  His  very  reputation 
for  common  honesty  was  at  stake. 

He  wondered  what  men  did  in  a  crisis  such  as  this. 
He  wondered  what  happened  to  them  when  they 
could  do  nothing  more.  Usually  he  was  fertile  in  ex- 
pedients, but  to-day  his  brain  seemed  wholly  inert. 
He  realized  only  a  certain  dull  terror  of  the  future; 
the  present  eluded  him  utterly. 

He  had  never  been  over-scrupulous  perhaps,  he 
had  always  taken  what  he  pleased  to  call  long 
chances,  and  it  was  in  almost  imperceptible  grada- 
tions that  he  had  descended  in  the  scale  of  honesty 


52        THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

to  the  point  that  had  at  last  made  possible  these  for- 
geries. Until  now  he  had  always  felt  certain  of  him- 
self and  of  his  future;  time  was  to  bring  him  into 
the  presence  of  his  dear  desires,  when  he  should  have 
money  to  lift  the  burden  of  debt,  money  to  waste, 
money  to  scatter,  money  to  spend  for  the  good  things 
of  life. 

But  he  had  made  the  fatal  mistake  of  anticipating 
the  success  in  which  he  so  firmly  believed.  Those 
notes — he  dashed  his  hand  before  his  face ;  suddenly 
the  air  of  the  room  seemed  to  stifle  him,  courage  and 
cunning  had  left  him ;  there  was  only  North  to  whom 
he  could  turn  for  a  few  hundreds  with  which  to  quiet 
Gilmore.  Let  him  but  escape  the  consequences  of  his 
folly  this  time  and  he  promised  himself  he  would 
retrench ;  he  would  live  within  his  income,  he  would 
apply  himself  to  his  profession  as  he  had  never  yet 
applied  himself.  He  scowled  heavily  at  Gilmore, 
who  met  his  scowl  with  a  cynical  smile. 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do?"  he  queried. 

But  Langham  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  had 
turned  and  was  looking  from  the  window.  It  was 
snowing  now  very  hard,  and  twilight,  under  the 
edges  of  torn  gray  clouds  was  creeping  over  the 
Square;  he  could  barely  see  the  flickering  lights  in 
Archibald  McBride's  dingy  shop-windows. 

"Give  me  a  chance,  Andy !"  he  said  at  last  appeal- 
ingly. 

"To  the  end  of  the  month,  not  a  day  more,"  as- 
serted Gilmore, 


STRANGE    BEDFELLOWS  53 

"Where  am  I  to  get  such  a  sum  in  that  time?  You 
know  I  can't  do  it !" 

"Don't  ask  me,  but  turn  to  and  get  it,  Marsh. 
That's  your  only  hope." 

"By  the  first  of  the  year  perhaps,"  urged  Lang- 
ham. 

"No,  get  rid  of  the  notion  that  I  am  going  to  let 
up  on  you,  for  I  ain't!  I'm  going  to  squat  on  your 
trail  until  the  money's  in  my  hand;  otherwise  I  know 
damn  well  I  won't  ever  see  a  cent  of  it!  I  ain't  your 
only  creditor,  but  the  one  who  hounds  you  hardest 
will  see  his  money  first,  and  I  got  you  where  I  want 
you." 

"I  can't  raise  the  money;  what  will  you  gain  by 
ruining  me?"  demanded  Langham.  He  wished  to 
impress  this  on  Gilmore,  and  then  he  would  pro- 
pose as  a  compromise  the  few  hundreds  it  would  be 
possible  to  borrow  from  North. 

"To  get  square  with  you,  Marsh,  will  be  worth 
something,  and  frankly,  I  ain't  sure  that  I  ever  ex- 
pected to  see  any  of  that  money,  but  as  long  as  you 
stood  my  friend  I  was  disposed  to  be  easy  on  you." 

"I  am  still  your  friend." 

"Just  about  so-so,  but  you  won't  keep  Moxlow — " 

"I  can't!" 

"Then  I  can't  see  where  your  friendship  comes 
in."    Gilmore  quitted  his  chair. 

"Wait,  Andy!"  said  Langham  hastily. 

"No  use  of  any  more  talk,  Marsh,  I  want  my 
money !   Go  dig  it  up." 


54       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Suppose,  by  straining  every  nerve,  I  can  raise 
five  hundred  dollars  by  the  end  of  the  month — " 

"Oh,  pay  your  grocer  with  that  I" 

Langham  choked  down  his  rage.  "You  haven't 
always  been  so  contemptuous  of  such  sums." 

"I'm  feeling  proud  to-day,  Marsh.  I'm  going  to 
treat  myself  to  a  few  airs,  and  you  can  pat  yourself 
on  the  back  when  you've  dug  up  the  money  by  the 
end  of  the  month !  You'll  have  done  something  to 
feel  proud  of,  too." 

"Suppose  we  say  a  thousand,"  urged  Langham. 

"Good  old  Marsh!  If  you  keep  on  raising  your- 
self like  this  you'll  soon  get  to  a  figure  where  we  can 
talk  business  !"     Gilmore  laughed. 

"Perhaps  I  can  raise  a  thousand  dollars.  I  don't 
know  why  I  should  think  I  can,  but  I'm  willing  to 
try;  I'm  willing  to  say  I'll  try — " 

Gilmore  shook  his  head. 

"I've  told  you  what  you  got  to  do,  Marsh,  and  I 
mean  every  damn  word  I  say, — understand  that? 
I'm  going  to  have  my  money  or  I'm  going  to  have 
the  fun  of  smashing  you." 

"Listen  to  me,  Andy!"  began  Langham  desper- 
ately. 

"Why  take  me  into  your  confidence?"  asked  the 
gambler  coldly. 

"What  will  you  gain  by  ruining  me?"  repeated 
Langham  fiercely. 

The  gambler  only  grinned. 

"I  am  always  willing  to  spend  money  on  my  pleas- 


STRANGE    BEDFELLOWS  55 

ures;  and  besides  when  those  notes  turn  up,  your 
father  or  some  one  else  will  have  to  come  across." 

Langham  was  silent.  He  was  staring  out  across 
the  empty  snow-strewn  Square  at  the  lights  in 
Archibald  McBride's  windows. 

"Remember,"  said  Gilmore,  moving  toward  the 
door.  "I'll  talk  to  you  when  you  got  two  thousand 
dollars." 

"Damn  you,  where  do  you  think  I'll  get  it?"  cried 
Langham. 

"I'm  not  good  at  guessing,"  laughed  Gilmore. 

He  turned  without  another  word  or  look  and  left 
the  room.  His  footsteps  echoed  loudly  in  the  hall 
and  on  the  stairs,  and  then  there  was  silence  in  the 
building.  Langham  was  again  looking  out  across 
the  Square  at  the  lights  in  Archibald  McBride's  win- 
dows. 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

ADVENTURE  IN  EARNEST 

MR.  SHRIMPLIN  had  made  his  way  through 
a  number  of  back  streets  without  adventure 
of  any  sort,  and  as  the  night  and  the  storm  closed 
swiftly  in  about  him,  the  shapes  of  himself,  his  cart 
and  of  wild  Bill  disappeared,  and  there  remained  to 
mark  his  progress  only  the  hissing  sputtering  flame, 
that  flared  spectrally  six  feet  in  air  as  the  little  lamp- 
lighter drove  in  and  out  of  shabby  unfrequented 
streets  and  alleys. 

It  had  grown  steadily  colder  with  the  approach 
of  night,  and  the  wind  had  risen.  The  streets  seemed 
deserted,  and  Mr.  Shrimplin  being  as  he  was  of  a 
somewhat  fanciful  turn  of  mind,  could  almost  im- 
agine himself  and  Bill  the  only  living  things  astir 
in  all  the  town. 

He  reached  Water  Street,  the  western  boundary 
of  that  part  of  Mount  Hope  known  as  the  flats.  He 
jogged  past  Maxy  Schaffer's  Railroad  Hotel  at  the 
corner  of  Front  Street,  which  flung  the  wicked  radi- 
ance of  its  bar-room  windows  along  the  shining  rail- 
road track  where  it  crossed  the  creek  on  the  new 
iron  bridge;  and  keeping  on  down  Water  Street  with 
its  smoky  tenements,   entered  an   outlying  district 

56 


ADVENTURE    IN    EARNEST  57 

where  the  lamps  were  far  apart  and  where  red  and 
blue  and  green  switch  lights  blinked  at  him  out  of 
the  storm. 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock  when  he  at  last  wheeled 
into  the  Square;  here  only  three  gasolene  burners — 
survivors  of  the  old  regime — held  their  own  against 
the  fast  encroaching  gas-lamp. 

He  lighted  the  one  in  Division  Street  and  was 
ready  to  turn  and  traverse  the  north  side  of  the 
Square  to  the  second  lamp  which  stood  a  block  away 
at  the  corner  of  High  Street.  He  was  drawing 
Bill's  head  about — Bill  being  smitten  with  a  sudden 
desire  to  go  directly  home  leaving  the  night's  work 
unfinished — when  the  muffled  figure  of  a  man  ap- 
peared in  the  street  in  front  of  him.  The  inch  or 
more  of  snow  that  now  covered  the  pavement  had 
deadened  the  sound  of  his  steps,  while  the  eddying 
flakes  had  made  possible  his  near  approach  unseen. 
As  he  came  rapidly  into  the  red  glare  of  Mr. 
Shrimplin's  hissing  torch  that  hero  was  exceeding 
well  pleased  to  recognize  a  friendly  face. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  North!"  he  said,  and  John 
North  halted  suddenly. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  Shrimp!    A  nasty  night,  isn't  it?" 

"It's  the  suffering  human  limit!"  rejoined  Mr. 
Shrimplin  with  feeling. 

As  he  spoke  the  town  bell  rang  the  hour ;  uncon- 
sciously, perhaps,  the  two  men  paused  until  the  last 
reverberating  stroke  had  spent  itself  in  the  snowy 
distance. 


58       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Six  o'clock/'  observed  Mr.  Shrimplin. 

"Good  night,  Shrimp,"  replied  North  irrelevantly. 

He  turned  away  and  an  instant  later  was  engulfed 
in  the  wintry  night. 

Having  at  last  pointed  Bill's  head  in  the  right  di- 
rection Mr.  Shrimplin  drove  that  trusty  beast  up  to 
the  lamp-post  on  the  corner  of  High  Street,  when 
suddenly  and  for  no  apparent  reason  Bill  settled 
back  in  the  shafts  and  exhibited  unmistakable, 
though  humiliating  symptoms  of  fright. 

"Go  on,  you!"  cried  Mr.  Shrimplin,  slapping 
bravely  with  both  the  lines,  but  his  voice  was  far 
from  steady,  for  suppose  Bill  should  abandon  the 
rectitude  of  a  lifetime  and  begin  to  kick. 

"Go  on,  you !"  repeated  Mr.  Shrimplin  and 
slapped  the  lines  again,  but  less  vigorously,  for  by 
this  time  Bill  was  unquestionably  backing  away  from 
the  curb. 

"Be  done!  Be  done!"  expostulated  Mr.  Shrimp- 
lin, but  he  gave  over  slapping  the  lines,  for  why 
irritate  Bill  in  his  present  uncertain  mood?  "Want 
I  should  get  out  and  lead  you  ?"  asked  Mr.  Shrimp- 
lin, putting  aside  with  one  hand  the  blankets  in 
which  he  was  wrapped.  "You're  a  game  old  codger, 
ain't  you?  I  guess  you  ain't  aware  you've  growed 
up!" 

While  he  was  still  speaking  he  slipped  to  the 
ground  and  worked  his  way  hand  over  hand  up  the 
lines  to  Bill's  bit.  Bill  was  now  comfortably  located 
on  his  haunches,  but  evidently  still  dissatisfied  for 


ADVENTURE    IN    EARNEST  59 

he  continued  to  back  vigorously,  drawing  the  pro- 
testing little  lamplighter  after  him.  When  he  had 
put  perhaps  twenty  feet  between  himself  and  the 
lamp-post  Bill  achieved  his  usual  upright  attitude 
and  his  countenance  assumed  its  habitual  contempla- 
tive expression,  the  haunted  look  faded  from  his  sa- 
gacious eye  and  his  flaming  nostrils  resumed  their 
normal  benevolent  expression.  Taking  note  of 
these  swift  changes,  it  occurred  to  Mr.  Shrimplin 
that  rather  than  risk  a  repetition  of  his  recent  ex- 
perience he  would  so  far  sacrifice  his  official  dig- 
nity as  to  go  on  foot  to  the  lamp-post.  Bill  would 
probably  stand  where  he  was,  indefinitely,  standing- 
being  one  of  his  most  valued  accomplishments.  The 
lamplighter  took  up  his  torch  which  he  had  put 
aside  in  the  struggle  with  Bill  and  walked  to  the 
curb. 

And  here  Mr.  Shrimplin  noticed  that  which  had 
not  before  caught  his  attention.  McBride's  store  was 
apparently  open,  for  the  bracketed  oil  lamps  that 
hung  at  regular  intervals  the  full  length  of  the  long 
narrow  room,  were  all  alight. 

Mr.  Shrimplin,  whose  moods  were  likely  to  be  crit- 
ical and  censorious,  realized  that  there  was  some- 
thing personally  offensive  in  the  fact  that  Archibald 
McBride  had  chosen  to  disregard  a  holiday  which 
his  fellow-merchants  had  so  very  generally  observed. 

"And  him,  I  may  say,  just  rotten  rich !"  he 
thought. 

Mr.  Shrimplin  further  discovered  that  though  the 


60       THE    JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

lamps  were  lit  they  were  burning  low,  and  he  con- 
cluded that  they  had  been  lighted  in  the  early  dusk 
of  the  winter  afternoon  and  that  McBride,  for  rea- 
sons of  economy,  had  deferred  turning  them  up  until 
it  should  be  quite  dark. 

"Well,  I'm  a  poor  man,  but  I  couldn't  think  of 
them  things  like  he  does !"  reflected  Mr.  Shrimplin  ; 
and  then  even  before  he  had  ceased  to  pride  himself 
on  his  superior  liberality,  he  made  still  another  dis- 
covery, and  this,  that  the  store  door  stood  wide  open 
to  the  night. 

"Well,"  thought  Mr.  Shrimplin,  "maybe  he's  sav- 
ing oil,  but  he's  wasting  fuel." 

Approaching  the  door  he  peered  in.  The  store 
was  empty,  Archibald  McBride  was  nowhere  visible. 
Evidently  the  door  had  been  open  some  little  time, 
for  he  could  see  where  the  snow,  driven  by  the  strong 
wind,  had  formed  a  miniature  snow-drift  just  be- 
yond the  threshold. 

"Either  he's  stepped  out  and  the  door's  blowed 
open,"  muttered  Mr.  Shrimplin,  "or  he's  in  his  back 
office  and  some  customer  went  out  without  latching 
it." 

He  paused  irresolutely,  then  he  put  his  hand  on 
the  knob  of  the  door  to  close  it,  and  paused  again. 
With  his  taste  for  fictitious  horrors,  usually  in- 
dulged in,  however,  by  his  own  warm  fireside,  he 
found  the  present  time  and  place  slightly  disquiet- 
ing; and  then  Bill's  singular  and  erratic  behavior 
had  rather  weakened  his  nerve.     From  under  knitted 


ADVENTURE    IN    EARNEST  6\ 

brows  he  gazed  into  the  room.  The  storm  rattled 
the  shuttered  windows  above  his  head,  the  dingy 
sign  creaked  on  its  rusty  fastenings,  and  with  each 
fresh  gust  the  bracketed  lamps  rocked  gently  to  and 
fro,  and  as  they  rocked  their  trembling  shadows 
slid  back  and  forth  along  the  walls.  The  very  air  of 
the  place  was  inhospitable,  forbidding,  and  Mr. 
Shrimplin  was  strongly  inclined  to  close  the  door 
and  beat  a  hasty  retreat. 

Still  peering  down  the  narrow  room  with  its  sag- 
ging shelves  and  littered  counters,  he  crossed  the 
threshold.  Now  he  could  see  the  office,  a  space  par- 
titioned off  at  the  rear  of  the  building  and  having  a 
glass  front  that  gave  into  the  store  itself.  Here, 
as  he  knew,  stood  Mr.  McBride's  big  iron  safe,  and 
here  was  the  high  desk,  his  heavy  ledgers — row 
after  row  of  them ;  these  histories  of  commerce  cov- 
ered almost  the  entire  period  during  which  men  had 
bought  and  sold  in  Mount  Hope. 

A  faint  light  burned  beyond  the  dirty  glass  par- 
tition, but  the  tall  meager  form  of  the  old  merchant 
was  nowhere  visible.  Mr.  Shrimplin  advanced  yet 
farther  into  the  room  and  urged  by  his  sense  of  duty 
and  his  public  spirit,  he  directed  his  steps  toward 
the  office,  treading  softly  as  one  who  fears  to  come 
upon  the  unexpected.  Once  he  paused,  and  address- 
ing the  empty  air,  broke  the  heavy  silence: 

"Oh,  Mr.  McBride,  your  door's  open !" 

The  room  echoed  to  his  words. 

"Well,"  carped  Mr.  Shrimplin,  "I  don't  see  as  it's 


62        THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

any  of  my  business  to  attend  to  his  business  I"  But 
the  very  sound  of  his  voice  must  have  given  him 
courage,  for  now  he  stepped  forward,  briskly. 

On  his  right  was  a  show-case  in  which  was  dis- 
played a  varied  assortment  of  knives,  cutlery,  and 
revolvers  with  shiny  silver  or  nickel  mountings; 
then  the  show-case  gave  place  to  a  long  pine  counter, 
and  at  the  far  end  of  this  was  a  pair  of  scales.  Near 
the  scales  on  a  low  iron  standard  rested  an  oil 
lamp,  but  this  lamp  was  not  lighted  nor  were  the 
lamps  in  the  bracket  that  hung  immediately  above 
the  scales,  for  behind  the  counter  at  this  point  was  a 
door,  the  upper  half  glass,  that  opened  on  a  small 
yard  which,  in  turn,  was  inclosed  by  a  series  of  low 
sheds  where  the  old  merchant  stored  heavy  castings, 
bar-iron,  and  the  like.  Mr.  Shrimplin  was  shrewdly 
aware  that  it  was  one  of  McBride's  small  economies 
not  to  light  the  lamps  by  that  door  so  long  as  he 
could  see  to  read  the  figures  on  the  scales  without 
their  artificial  aid. 

And  then  Mr.  Shrimplin  saw  a  thing  that  sent 
the  blood  leaping  from  his  heart,  while  an  icy  hand 
seemed  to  hold  him  where  he  stood.  On  the  floor 
at  his  very  feet  was  a  strange  huddled  shape.  He 
lowered  his  gasolene  torch  which  he  still  carried, 
and  the  shape  resolved  itself  into  the  figure  of 
a  man ;  an  old  man  who  lay  face  down  on  the  floor, 
his  arms  extended  as  if  they  had  been  arrested  while 
he  was  in  the  very  act  of  raising  them  to  his  head. 
The  thick  shock  of  snow-white  hair,  worn  rather 


On    the    floor    at    his    feet    was    a    strange    huddled    shape. 


ADVENTURE    IN    EARNEST  63 

long,  was  discolored  just  back  of  the  left  ear,  and 
from  this  Mr.  Shrimplin's  horrified  gaze  was  able  to 
trace  another  discoloration  that  crossed  in  a  thin  red 
line  the  dead  man's  white  collar;  for  the  man  was 
dead  past  all  peradventure. 

Mr.  Shrimplin  saw  and  grasped  the  meaning  of 
it  all  in  an  instant.  Then  with  a  feeble  cry  he 
turned  and  fled  down  the  long  room,  pursued  by  a 
million  phantom  terrors.  His  heart  seemed  to  die 
within  him  as  he  scurried  down  that  long  room; 
then,  mercifully,  the  keen  fresh  air  filled  his  lungs. 
He  fairly  leaped  through  the  open  door,  and  again 
the  storm  roared  about  him  with  a  kind  of  boisterous 
fellowship.  It  smote  him  in  the  face  and  twisted 
his  shaking  legs  from  under  him.  Then  he  fell, 
speechless,  terrifiedsinto  the  arms  of  a  passer-by. 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

COLONEL  GEORGE  HARBISON 

TERROR-STRICKEN  as  he  was,  Mr.  Shrimp- 
lin  recognized  the  man  into  whose  arms  he  had 
fallen.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  nose,  thin  and 
aquiline,  the  bristling  mustache  and  white  imperial, 
the  soft  gray  slouch  hat,  or  the  military  cloak  that 
half  concealed  the  stalwart  form  of  its  wearer. 

Colonel  George  Harbison,  much  astonished  and  in 
utter  ignorance  of  the  cause  of  Mr.  Shrimplin's 
alarm,  took  that  gentleman  by  the  collar  and  deftly 
jerked  him  into  an  erect  posture. 

"My  dear  sir !"  the  colonel  began  in  a  tone  of  mild 
expostulation,  evidently  thinking  he  had  a  drunken 
man  to  deal  with.  "My  dear  sir,  do  be  more  care- 
ful— "  then  he  recognized  the  lamplighter.  "Well, 
upon  my  word,  Shrimp,  what's  gone  wrong  with 
you?"  he  demanded,  with  military  asperity. 

"My  God,  Colonel,  if  he  ain't  lying  there  dead — " 
a  shudder  passed  through  the  little  man;  he  was 
well-nigh  dumb  in  his  terror.  "And  I  stumbled  right 
on  to  him  there  on  the  floor!"  he  cried  with  a  gasp. 

He  collapsed  again,  and  again  the  colonel,  whose 
gloved  hand  still  retained  its  hold  on  his  collar,  set 
him  on  his  trembling  legs  with  admirable  expertness. 

64 


COLONEL    GEORGE    HARBISON       6$\ 

"I  tell  you  he's  dead!"  cried  Mr.  Shrimplin,  lost 
to  everything  but  that  one  dreadful  fact. 

"Who's  dead?"  demanded  the  colonel.  "Stand 
up,  man,  don't  fall  about  like  that  or  you  may  do 
yourself  some  injury!"  for  Mr.  Shrimplin  seemed 
about  to  collapse  once  more. 

"Old  man  McBride,  Colonel — if  he  ain't  dead  I 
wish  I  may  never  see  death !" 

"Dead !"  cried  the  colonel.  "Archibald  McBride 
dead !"  He  released  his  hold  on  Mr.  Shrimplin  and 
took  a  step  toward  the  door;  Shrimplin,  however, 
detained  him  with  a  shaking  hand,  though  he  was 
calmer  now. 

"Colonel,  you'd  better  be  careful,  he's  lying  there 
in  a  pool  of  blood;  some  one's  killed  him  for  his 
money!  How  do  we  know  the  murderer  ain't 
there!"  This  conjecture  was  made  to  the  empty 
street,  for  Colonel  Harbison  had  entered  the  store. 

"Why  does  he  want  to  leave  me  like  that !"  wailed 
Shrimplin,  and  his  panic  threatened  a  return. 

He  dragged  himself  to  the  door.  Here  he  paused, 
since  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  enter,  for  before 
his  eyes  was  the  ghastly  vision  of  that  old  man  hud- 
dled on  the  blood-stained  floor.  He  heard  the 
colonel's  steps  echo  down  the  long  room,  and  when 
their  sound  ceased  he  knew  he  was  standing  beside 
the  dead  man.  After  what  seemed  an  age  of  waiting 
the  steps  sounded  again,  and  a  moment  later  the 
colonel's  tall  form  filled  the  doorway. 

"Andy !"  said  the  colonel. 


66      THE   JUST   AND   THE    UNJUST 

Mr.  Shrimplin  turned  with  a  start.  At  his  back 
within  reach  of  his  hand  stood  Andy  Gilmore.  He 
had  been  utterly  unaware  of  the  gambler's  approach, 
but  now  conscious  of  it  he  dropped  in  a  miserable 
heap  on  the  door-sill,  while  the  white  and  un- 
familiar world  reeled  before  his  bleached  blue  eyes ; 
it  was  the  very  drunkenness  of  fear. 

"Howdy,  Colonel,"  said  the  gambler,  as  he  gave 
Harbison  a  half-military  salute. 

He  admired  the  colonel,  who  had  once  threatened 
to  horsewhip  him  if  he  ever  permitted  his  nephew, 
Watt,  to  enter  his  rooms. 

"Come  here,  Andy  !"  ordered  the  colonel  briefly. 

"God's  sake,  Colonel !"  gasped  the  wretched  little 
lamplighter,  struggling  to  his  feet,  "don't  leave  me 
here — " 

"What's  wrong,  Colonel  ?"  asked  Gilmore. 

"Archibald  McBride's  been  murdered  I" 

Mr.  Gilmore  took  the  butt  of  the  half-smoked 
cigar  from  between  his  teeth,  tossed  it  into  the  gut- 
ter, and  pushing  past  Mr.  Shrimplin  entered  the 
room. 

Colonel  Harbison,  a  step  or  two  in  advance  of  his 
companion,  led  the  way  to  the  rear  of  the  store.  The 
colonel  paused,  and  Gilmore  gained  a  place  at  his 
elbow. 

"You  are  sure  he's  dead?"  questioned  the  gambler. 

Kneeling  beside  the  crumpled  figure  Gilmore 
slipped  his  hand  in  between  the  body  and  the  floor; 
his   manner  was   cool   and   businesslike.      After  a 


COLONEL  GEORGE  HARBISON   67 

moment  he  withdrew  his  hand  and  looked  up  into 
the  colonel's  face. 

"Well?"  asked  the  colonel. 

''Oh,  he's  dead,  all  right!"  Gilmore  glanced  about 
him,  and  the  colonel's  eyes  following,  they  both  dis- 
covered that  the  door  leading  into  the  side  yard  was 
partly  open. 

"He  went  that  way,  eh,  Colonel?'' 

"It's  altogether  likely,"  agreed  the  veteran. 

"It's  a  nasty  business !"  said  Gilmore  reflectively. 

"Shocking!"  snapped  the  colonel. 

"He  took  big  chances,"  commented  the  gambler, 
"living  the  way  he  did."    He  spoke  of  the  dead  man. 

"Poor  old  man !"  said  the  colonel  pityingly. 

What  had  it  all  amounted  to,  those  chances  for 
the  sake  of  gain,  which  Gilmore  had  in  mind. 

"He  can't  have  been  dead  very  long,"  said  Gil- 
more. "Did  you  find  him,  Colonel?"  he  asked  as  he 
stood  erect. 

"No,  Shrimplin  found  him." 

Again  the  two  men  looked  about  them.  On  the 
floor  by  the  counter  at  their  right  was  a  heavy 
sledge.     Gilmore  called  Harbison's  attention  to  this. 

"I  guess  the  job  was  done  with  that,"  he  said. 

"Possibly,"  agreed  Harbison. 

Gilmore  picked  up  the  sledge  and  examined  it 
narrowly. 

"Yes,  you  can  see,  there  is  blood  on  it."  He 
handed  it  to  Harbison,  who  stepped  under  the  near- 
est lamp  with  the  clumsy  weapon  in  his  hand. 


68        THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"You  are  right,  Andy!"  and  he  glanced  at  the 
rude  instrument  of  death  with  a  look  of  repugnance 
on  his  keen  sensitive  face,  then  he  carefully  placed  it 
under  the  wooden  counter.  "Horrible !"  he  muttered 
to  himself. 

"It  was  no  joke  for  him !"  said  the  gambler,  catch- 
ing the  last  word.  "But  some  one  was  bound  to  try 
this  dodge  sooner  or  later.  Why,  as  far  back  as  I 
can  remember,  people  said  he  kept  his  money  hidden 
away  at  the  bottom  of  nail  kegs  and  under  heaps  of 
scrap-iron."  He  took  a  cigar  from  his  pocket,  bit 
off  the  end,  and  struck  a  match.  "Well,  I  wouldn't 
want  to  be  the  other  fellow,  Colonel;  I'd  be  in  all 
kinds  of  a  panic ;  it  takes  nerve  for  a  job  like  this." 

"It's  a  shocking  circumstance,"  said  the  colonel. 

"I  wonder  if  it  paid!"  speculated  the  gambler. 
"And  I  wonder  who'll  get  what  he  leaves.  Has  he 
any  family  or  relatives?" 

"No,  not  so  far  as  any  one  knows.  He  came  here 
many  years  ago,  a  close-mouthed  Scotchman,  who 
never  had  any  intimates,  never  married,  and  never 
spoke  of  his  private  affairs." 

There  was  a  slight  commotion  at  the  door.  They 
could  hear  Shrimplin's  agitated  voice,  and  a  moment 
later  two  men,  chance  passers-by  with  whom  he  had 
been  speaking,  shook  themselves  free  of  the  little 
lamplighter  and  entered  the  room.  The  new-comers 
nodded  to  the  colonel  and  Gilmore  as  they  paused 
to  stare  mutely  at  the  body  on  the  floor. 

"He  bled  like  a  stuck  pig!"  said  one  of  the  men 


COLONEL    GEORGE    HARBISON        69 

at  last.  He  was  a  ragged  slouching  creature  with  a 
splotched  and  bloated  face  half  hidden  by  a  bristling 
red  beard.  He  glanced  at  Gilmore  for  an  uncertain 
instant  out  of  a  pair  of  small  shifty  eyes.  "It's  mur- 
der, ain't  it,  boss  ?"  he  added. 

"No  doubt  about  that,  Joe!"  rejoined  the  gambler. 

"I  suppose  it  was  robbery  ?"  said  the  other  man, 
who  had  not  spoken  before. 

"Very  likely,"  answered  the  colonel.  "We  have 
not  examined  the  place,  however;  we  shall  wait  for 
the  proper  officials." 

"Who  do  you  want,  Colonel?" 

"Coroner  Taylor,  and  I  suppose  the  sheriff,"  re- 
plied Harbison. 

The  man  nodded. 

"All  right,  I'll  bring  them;  and  say,  what  about 
the  prosecuting  attorney?"  as  he  turned  to  leave. 

"Yes,  bring  Moxlow,  too,  if  you  can  find  him." 

The  man  hurried  from  the  room.  Gilmore  leaned 
against  the  counter  and  smoked  imperturbably.  Joe 
Montgomery,  with  his  great  slouching  shoulders 
arched,  and  his  grimy  hands  buried  deep  in  his 
trousers  pockets,  stared  at  the  dead  man  in  stolid 
wonder.  Colonel  Harbison's  glance  sought  the  same 
object  but  with  a  sensitive  shrinking  as  from  an  ugly 
brutal  thing.  A  clock  ticked  loudly  in  the  office; 
there  was  the  occasional  fall  of  cinders  from  the 
grate  of  the  rusted  stove  that  heated  the  place;  these 
were  sounds  that  neither  Gilmore  nor  the  colonel  had 
heard  before.     Presently  a  lean  black  cat  stole  from 


70       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

the  office  and  sprang  upon  the  counter;  it  purred 
softly. 

"Hello,  puss!"  said  the  gambler,  putting  out  a 
hand.  The  cat  stole  closer.  "I  guess  I'll  have  to 
take  you  home  with  me,  eh?  This  ain't  a  place  for 
unprotected  females !"  The  cat  crept  back  and  forth 
under  his  caressing  touch. 

At  the  street-door  Shrimplin  appeared  and  disap- 
peared, now  his  head  was  thrust  into  the  room,  and 
now  his  nose  was  flattened  against  the  dingy  show- 
windows;  from  neither  point  could  he  quite  com- 
mand the  view  he  desired  nor  could  he  bring  himself 
to  enter  the  building;  then  he  vanished  entirely,  but 
after  a  brief  interval  they  heard  his  voice.  He  was 
evidently  speaking  with  some  one  in  the  street. 
A  little  crowd  was  rapidly  gathering  about  him, 
but  it  disintegrated  almost  immediately,  his  listeners 
abandoning  him  to  hurry  into  the  store. 

"You  must  stand  back,  all  of  you !"  said  the  colo- 
nel. "Unless  you  are  very  careful  you  may  destroy 
important  evidence!" 

The  crowd  assembled  itself  silently  for  the  most 
part;  here  and  there  a  man  removed  his  hat,  or  made 
some  whispered  comment,  or  asked  some  eager  low- 
voiced  question  of  Gilmore  or  the  colonel.  Men  stood 
on  boxes,  on  nail  kegs,  and  on  counters.  Except  for 
the  little  circle  left  about  the  dead  man  on  the  floor, 
every  vantage  point  of  observation  was  soon  occu- 
pied. It  was  scarcely  half  an  hour  since  Shrimplin 
had  fallen  speechless  into  Colonel  Harbison's  arms, 


COLONEL   GEORGE    HARBISON!       71 

yet  fully  two  hundred  men  had  gathered  in  that  long 
room  or  were  struggling  about  the  door  to  gain  ad- 
mittance to  it. 

At  a  suggestion  from  Harbison,  the  gambler,  fol- 
lowed by  Joe,  elbowed  his  way  to  the  front  door, 
which  in  spite  of  the  protest  of  those  outside, 
he  closed  and  locked.  A  moment  later,  however,  he 
opened  it  to  admit  Doctor  Taylor,  the  coroner,  and 
Conklin,  the  sheriff.  The  latter  instantly  set  about 
clearing  the  room. 

Gilmore  and  the  colonel  remained  with  the  offi- 
cials and  during  the  succeeding  ten  minutes  the 
gambler,  who  had  kept  his  post  at  the  door,  opened 
it  to  Moxlow,  young  Watt  Harbison  and  two  police- 
men. 

As  the  coroner  finished  his  examination  of  the 
body,  the  sound  of  wheels  was  heard  in  the  Square 
and  an  undertaker's  wagon  drew  up  to  the  door.  The 
murdered  man  was  placed  on  a  stretcher  and  covered 
with  a  black  cloth,  then  four  men  raised  the  stretcher 
and  for  the  last  time  the  old  merchant  passed  out 
under  his  creaking  sign  into  the  night. 

"I've  agreed  to  watch  at  the  house,  Andy,"  said 
Colonel  Harbison.  "I  want  you  and  Watt  to  come 
with  me." 

The  gambler  lighted  a  fresh  cigar  and  the  three 
men  left  the  store. 

On  the  Square  groups  of  men  discussed  the  mur- 
der. Though  none  was  permitted  to  enter  the  store, 
the  windows   afforded   occasional   glimpses   of   the 


J2       THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

little  group  of  officials  within,  until  a  policeman 
closed  and  fastened  the  heavy  wooden  shutters. 
Then  the  crowd  slowly  and  reluctantly  dispersed. 

Meanwhile  the  town  marshal,  under  cover  of  the 
excitement,  had  descended  on  the  gas  house  where 
tramps  congregated  of  winter  nights  for  warmth 
and  shelter.  Here  he  found  shivering  over  a  can  of 
beer,  two  homeless  wretches,  whom  he  arrested  as 
suspicious  characters.  After  this,  official  activity 
languished,  for  the  official  mind  could  think  of  noth- 
ing more  to  do. 

With  the  scattering  of  the  crowd  on  the  Square, 
Shrimplin  climbed  into  his  cart  and  drove  off  home. 
The  smother  of  wind-driven  snow  still  enveloped  the 
town,  the  very  air  seemed  charged  with  mystery  and 
horror,  and  before  the  little  lamplighter's  eyes  was 
ever  the  haunting  vision  of  the  murdered  man. 

He  drove  into  the  alley  back  of  his  house,  un- 
hitched Bill  and  led  him  into  the  barn.  His  torch 
made  the  gloom  of  the  place  more  terrifying  than 
utter  darkness  would  have  been.  Suppose  the  mur- 
derer should  be  hiding  there !  Mr.  Shrimplin's  mind 
fastened  on  the  hay-mow  as  the  most  likely 
place  of  concealment,  and  the  cold  sweat  ran  from 
him  in  icy  streams ;  he  could  almost  see  the  murder- 
er's evil  eyes  fixed  upon  him  from  the  blackness 
above.  But  at  last  Bill  was  stripped  of  his  harness, 
and  the  little  lamplighter,  escaping  from  the  barn 
with  its  fancied  terrors,  hurried  across  his  small 
back  yard  to  his  kitchen  door. 


COLONEL    GEORGE    HARBISON       73 

"Well!"  said  Mrs.  Shrimplin,  as  he  entered  the 
room.  "I  was  beginning  to  wonder  if  you'd  ever 
think  it  worth  your  while  to  come  home !" 

"What's  the  bell  been  ringing  for?"  asked  Custer. 
Mrs.  Shrimplin  was  seated  by  the  table,  which  was 
littered  with  her  sewing;  Custer  occupied  his  usual 
chair  by  the  stove,  and  it  was  evident  that  they  knew 
nothing  of  the  tragedy  in  which  Mr.  Shrimplin  had 
played  so  important,  and  as  he  now  felt,  so  worthy  a 
part. 

"I  suppose  I've  been  out  quite  a  time,  and  I  may 
say  I've  seen  times,  too  !  I  guess  there  ain't  no  one  in 
the  town  fitter  to  say  they  seen  times  than  just  me!" 

The  light  and  comfort  of  his  own  pleasant  kitchen 
had  quite  restored  Mr.  Shrimplin. 

"I  may  say  I  seen  times!"  he  repeated  signifi- 
cantly. "There's  something  doing  in  this  here  old 
town  after  all !  I  take  back  a  heap  of  the  hard 
things  I've  said  about  it;  a  feller  can  scare  up  a 
little  excitement  if  he  knows  where  to  look  for  it. 
I  ain't  bragging  none,  but  I  guess  you'll  hear  my 
name  mentioned — I  guess  you'll  even  see  it  in  print 
in  the  newspapers!"  He  warmed  his  cold  hands 
over  the  stove.  "Throw  in  a  little  more  coal,  sonny ; 
I'm  half  froze,  but  I  guess  that's  the  worst  any  one 
can  say  of  me!" 

"You  make  much  of  it,  whatever  it  is,"  said  Mrs. 
Shrimplin. 

"Maybe  I  do  and  maybe  I  don't,"  equivocated 
Mr.  Shrimplin  genially. 


74       THE    JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Maybe  you're  not  above  telling  a  body  what 
kept  you  out  half  the  night?"  inquired  his  wife. 

"If  you  done  and  seen  what  I've  did  and  saw," 
replied  Mr.  Shrimplin  impressively,  "you'd  look  for 
a  little  respect  in  your  own  home." 

"I'd  be  a  heap  quicker  telling  about  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Shrimplin. 

Mr.  Shrimplin  turned  to  Custer. 

"I  guess  you're  thinking  it  was  a  burglar; 
but,  sonny,  it  wasn't  no  burglar — so  you  got 
another  guess  coming  to  you,"  he  concluded  benevo- 
lently. 

"I  know!"  cried  Custer.  "Some  one's  been 
killed!" 

"Exactly!"  said  Mr.  Shrimplin  with  increasing 
benevolence.     "Some  one  has  been  killed!" 

"You  done  it!"  cried  Custer. 

"I  found  the  party,"  admitted  Mr.  Shrimplin  with 
calm  dignity. 

"Oh !"  But  perhaps  Custer's  first  emotion  was  on 
the  whole  one  of  disappointment. 

"How  you  talk!"  said  Mrs.  Shrimplin. 

"I  reckon  I  might  say  more,  most  any  one  would," 
retorted  Mr.  Shrimplin  quietly.  "It  was  old  man 
McBride — some  one's  murdered  him  for  his  money; 
I  never  seen  the  town  so  on  end  over  anything  be- 
fore, but  whoever  wants  to  be  well  posted's  got  to 
come  to  me  for  the  particulars.  I  seen  the  old  man 
before  Colonel  Harbison  seen  him,  I  seen  him  before 
Andy  Gilmore  seen  him,  I  seen  him  before  the  cor- 


COLONEL  GEORGE  HARBISON   75 

oner  seen  him,  or  the  sheriff  or  any  one  seen  him! 
I  was  on  the  spot  ahead  of  'em  all.  If  any  one  wants 
to  know  how  he  looked  just  after  he  was  killed, 
they  got  to  come  to  me  to  find  out.  Colonel  Har- 
bison can't  tell  'em,  and  Andy  Gilmore  can't  tell  'em ; 
it's  only  me  knows  them  particulars  !" 

The  effect  of  this  stirring  declaration  was  quite 
all  he  had  hoped  for.  Out  of  the  tail  of 
his  eye  he  saw  that  Mrs.  Shrimplin  was,  as 
she  afterward  freely  confessed,  taken  aback. 
As  for  Custer,  he  had  forgotten  his  disappointment 
that  a  death  by  violence  had  occurred  for  which  his 
father  was  not  directly  responsible. 

"Did  you  see  the  man  that  killed  old  Mr.  Mc- 
Bride?"  asked  Custer,  breaking  the  breathless  spell 
that  was  upon  him. 

"No;  if  I'd  been  just  about  fifteen  minutes  sooner 
I'd  have  seen  him;  but  I  was  just  about  that  much 
too  late,  sonny.  I  guess  he's  a  whole  lot  better  off, 
though." 

"What  would  you  have  done  if  you'd  seen  him?" 
Custer's  voice  sank  to  a  whisper. 

"Well,  I  don't  pack  a  gun  for  nothing.  If  I'd 
seen  him  there,  he'd  had  to  go  'round  to  the  jail 
with  me.  I  guess  I  could  have  coaxed  him  there ;  I 
was  ready  for  to  offer  extra  inducements !" 

"And  does  everybody  know  you  seen  old  Mr. 
McBride  the  first  of  any?"  asked  Custer. 

"I  guess  they  do;  I  ain't  afraid  about  that.  Colo- 
nel Harbison's  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  claim  any 


76       THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

credit  that  ain't  his ;  he'd  be  the  first  one  to  own  up 
that  he  don't  deserve  no  credit." 

"What  took  you  into  McBride's  store?  You 
hadn't  no  errand  there."  Mrs.  Shrimplin  was  a  care- 
ful and  acquisitive  wife. 

"I  allow  I  made  an  errand  there,"  said  Mr. 
Shrimplin  bridling.  "I  reckon  many  another  man 
might  have  thought  he  hadn't  no  errand  there  either, 
but  I  feel  different  about  them  things.  I  was  just 
turned  into  the  Square  when  along  comes  young 
John  North—" 

"What  was  he  doing  there?"  suddenly  asked  Mrs. 
Shrimplin. 

"I  expect  he  was  attending  strictly  to  his  own  busi- 
ness," retorted  Mr.  Shrimplin,  offended  by  the  utter 
irrelevancy  of  the  question. 

"Go  on,  pa!"  begged  Custer. 

He  felt  that  his  mother's  interruptions  were  pos- 
itively cruel,  and — so  like  a  woman ! 

"Me  and  young  John  North  passed  the  time  of 
day,"  continued  Mr.  Shrimplin,  thus  abjured,  "and 
I  started  around  the  north  side  of  the  Square  to  light 
the  lamp  on  old  man  McBride's  own  corner.  If  I'd 
knowed  then — "  he  paused  impressively,  "if  I'd  just 
knowed  then,  that  was  my  time !  I  could  have  laid 
hands  on  the  murderer.  He  was  there  somewheres, 
most  likely  he  was  watching  me;  well,  maybe  it  was 
all  for  the  best,  I  don't  know  as  a  married  man's  got 
any  right  to  take  chances.  Anyway,  I  got  to  within, 
well — I  should  say,  thirty  feet  of  that  lamp-post 


COLONEL  GEORGE  HARBISON   77 

when  all  of  a  sudden  Bill  began  to  act  up.  You 
never  saw  a  horse  act  up  like  he  done !  He  rose  in 
his  britching  and  then  the  other  end  of  him  come  up 
and  he  acted  like  he  wanted  to  set  down  on  the  sin- 
gletree!" 

"Why  did  he  do  that?"  asked  Custer. 

"Well,  I  guess  you've  got  some  few  things  to 
learn,  Custer,"  said  Mr.  Shrimplin  indulgently.  "He 
smelt  blood — that's  what  he  smelt !" 

"Oh !"  gasped  Custer. 

"I've  knowed  it  to  happen  before.  It's  instinct," 
explained  Shrimplin.  "  'Singular/  says  I,  and 
out  I  jumps  to  have  a  look  about.  I  walked  to  the 
lamp-post,  and  then  I  seen  what  I  hadn't  seen  before, 
that  old  man  McBride's  store  door  was  open,  so  I 
stepped  on  to  the  sidewalk  intending  to  close  it,  but 
as  I  put  my  hand  on  the  knob  I  seen  where  the  snow 
had  drifted  into  the  room,  so  I  knew  the  door  must 
have  been  open  some  little  time.  That's  mighty  odd, 
I  thinks,  and  then  it  sort  of  come  over  me  the  way 
Bill  had  acted,  and  I  went  along  into  the  store  in 
pretty  considerable  of  a  hurry." 

"Were  you  afraid?"  demanded  Custer  in  an  awe- 
struck whisper. 

"I'll  tell  you  the  truth,  Custer,  I  wasn't.  I  own 
I'd  drawed  my  gun,  wishing  to  be  on  the  safe  side. 
First  thing  I  noticed  was  that  the  lamps  hadn't  been 
turned  up,  though  they  was  all  lit.  I  got  back  to 
the  end  of  the  counter  when  I  came  to  a  halt,  for 
there  in  a  heap  on  the  floor  was  old  man  McBride, 


78       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

with  his  head  mashed  in  where  some  one  had  hit  him 
with  a  sledge.  There  was  blood  all  over  the  floor, 
and  it  was  a  mighty  sickenin'  spectacle.  I  sort  of 
looked  around  hoping  I'd  see  the  murderer,  but  he'd 
lit  out,  and  then  I  went  back  to  the  front  of  the  store, 
where  I  seen  Colonel  Harbison  coming  across  the 
Square.  I  told  him  what  I'd  seen  and  he  went  in- 
side to  look;  while  he  was  looking,  along  come  Andy 
Gilmore  and  I  told  him,  too,  and  he  went  in.  They 
knowed  the  murderer  wasn't  there,  that  I'd  been  in 
ahead  of  them.  After  that  the  people  seemed  to 
come  from  every  direction ;  then  presently  some  one 
started  to  ring  the  town  bell  and  that  fetched  more 
people,  until  the  Square  in  front  of  the  store  was 
packed  and  jammed  with  'em.  Everybody  wanted 
to  hear  about  it  first-hand  from  me;  they  wanted  the 
full  particulars  from  the  only  one  who  knowed  'em." 

Mr.  Shrimplin  paused  for  breath.  The  recollec- 
tion of  his  splendid  publicity  was  dazzling.  He  im- 
agined the  morrow  with  its  possibility  of  social  tri- 
umph; he  went  as  far  as  to  feel  that  Mrs.  Shrimplin 
now  had  a  certain  sneaking  respect  for  him. 

"Did  you  see  tracks  in  the  snow?"  demanded 
Custer. 

"No,  I  didn't  see  nothing,"  declared  Mr.  Shrimp- 
lin. 

"You  seen  young  John  North." 

It  was  Mrs.  Shrimplin  who  spoke. 

"Well,  yes,  I  seen  young  John  North — I  said  I 
seen  him!" 


CHAPTER  SIX 

PUTTING   ON   THE   SCREWS 

A  SCORE  of  men  and  boys  followed  the  under- 
taker's wagon  to  the  small  frame  cottage  that 
had  been  Archibald  McBride's  home  for  half  a  cen- 
tury, and  a  group  of  these  assembled  about  the  gate 
as  the  wagon  drew  up  before  it.  Along  the  quiet 
street,  windows  were  raised  and  doors  were  opened. 
It  was  perhaps  the  first  time,  as  it  was  to  be  the  last, 
that  Archibald  McBride's  neighbors  took  note  of 
his  home-coming. 

His  keys  had  been  found  and  intrusted  to  one  of 
the  policemen  who  accompanied  the  undertaker  and 
his  men;  now,  as  the  wagon  came  to  a  stand,  this 
officer  sprang  to  the  ground,  and  pushing  open  the 
gate  went  quickly  up  the  path  to  the  front  door. 
There  in  the  shelter  of  the  porch  he  paused  to 
light  a  lantern,  then  he  tried  key  after  key  until  he 
found  the  one  that  fitted  the  lock;  he  opened  the 
door  and  entered  the  house,  the  undertaker  follow- 
ing him.  A  second  officer  stationed  himself  at  the 
door  and  kept  back  the  crowd.  Their  preparations 
were  soon  made  and  the  two  men  reappeared  on  the 
porch. 

79 


So       THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

"It's  all  right,"  the  undertaker  said,  and  four  men 
raised  the  stretcher  again  and  carried  the  old  mer- 
chant into  the  house. 

At  this  juncture  Colonel  Harbison,  followed  by 
his  nephew  and  Gilmore,  made  his  way  through  the 
crowd  before  the  door.  Gilmore,  even,  gave  an  in- 
voluntary shudder  as  they  entered  the  small  hall 
lighted  by  the  single  lantern,  while  the  colonel  could 
have  wished  himself  anywhere  else;  he  had  come 
from  a  sense  of  duty ;  he  had  known  McBride  as  well 
as  any  one  in  Mount  Hope  had  known  him,  and  it 
had  seemed  a  lack  of  respect  to  the  dead  man  to  leave 
him  to  the  care  of  the  merely  curious;  but  he  was 
painfully  conscious  of  the  still  presence  in  the  parlor; 
he  felt  that  they  were  unwelcome  intruders  in  the 
home  of  that  austere  old  man,  who  had  made  no 
friends,  who  had  no  intimates,  but  had  lived  accord- 
ing to  his  choice,  solitary  and  alone.  The  colonel 
and  Watt  Harbison  followed  the  gambler  into  what 
had  been  the  old  merchant's  sitting-room.  There 
were  two  lamps  on  the  chimneypiece,  both  of  which 
Gilmore  lighted. 

"That's  a  whole  lot  better,"  he  said. 

"Anything  more  we  can  do,  gentlemen?"  asked 
the  undertaker,  coming  into  the  room. 

"Nothing,  thank  you,"  answered  the  colonel  in  a 
tone  of  abstraction,  and  he  felt  a  sense  of  relief  when 
the  officials  had  gone  their  way  into  the  night,  leav- 
ing him  and  his  two  companions  to  their  vigil. 

Now  for  the  first  time  they  had  leisure  and  oppor- 


PUTTING    ON    THE    SCREWS  81 

tunity  to  look  about  them.  It  was  a  poor  enough 
place,  all  things  considered;  the  furniture  was  dingy 
with  age  and  neglect,  for  Archibald  McBride  had 
kept  no  servant;  a  worn  and  faded  carpet  covered 
the  floor;  there  was  an  engraving  of  Washington 
Crossing  the  Delaware  and  a  few  old-fashioned 
woodcuts  on  the  wall;  at  one  side  of  the  room  was  a 
desk,  opposite  it  a  rusted  sheet-iron  stove  in  which 
Watt  Harbison  was  already  starting  a  fire;  there 
was  a  scant  assortment  of  uncomfortable  chairs,  a 
table,  with  one  leg  bandaged,  and  near  the  desk  an 
old  mahogany  davenport. 

"This  wouldn't  have  suited  you,  eh,  Colonel?"  said 
Gilmore  at  last. 

"He  could  hardly  be  said  to  live  here,  he  merely 
came  here  to  sleep,"  answered  the  colonel. 

"No,  he  couldn't  have  cared  for  anything  but  the 
one  thing,"  said  Gilmore.  "Were  you  ever  here  be- 
fore, Colonel?"  he  added. 

"Never." 

"I  don't  suppose  half  a  dozen  people  in  the  town 
were  ever  inside  his  door  until  to-night,"  said  Watt 
Harbison,  speaking  for  the  first  time. 

Gilmore  turned  to  look  at  the  colonel's  nephew  as 
if  he  had  only  that  moment  become  aware  of  his 
presence.  What  he  saw  did  not  impress  him  greatly, 
for  young  Watt,  save  for  an  unusually  large  head, 
was  much  like  other  young  men  of  his  class.  His 
speech  was  soft,  his  face  beardless  and  his  gray  eyes 
gazed  steadily  but  without  curiosity  on,  what  was  for 


82       THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

him,  an  uncliented  world.  For  the  eighteen  months 
that  he  had  been  an  "attorney  and  counselor  at  law" 
the  detail  of  office  rent  had  been  taken  care  of  by  the 
colonel. 

"Sort  of  makes  the  game  he  played  seem  rotten 
poor  sport,"  commented  Gilmore,  replying  to  the 
nephew  but  looking  at  the  uncle. 

The  colonel  was  silent. 

"Rotten  poor  sport!"  repeated  Gilmore. 

"Who'll  come  in  for  his  property?"  asked  Watt 
Harbison. 

"Oh,  some  one  will  claim  that,"  said  Gilmore. 
"They  were  saying  down  at  the  store,  that  once, 
years  ago,  a  brother  of  his  turned  up  here,  but  Mc- 
Bride  got  rid  of  him." 

"Suppose  we  have  a  look  around  before  we  settle 
ourselves  for  the  night,"  suggested  Watt  Harbison. 

"Will  you  join  us,  Colonel?"  asked  the  gambler. 

But  the  colonel  shook  his  head.  Gilmore  took  up 
one  of  the  lamps  as  he  spoke  and  opened  a  door  that 
led  into  what  had  evidently  once  been  a  dining-room, 
but  it  was  now  only  partly  furnished;  back  of  this 
was  a  kitchen,  and  beyond  the  kitchen  a  woodshed. 
Returning  to  the  front  of  the  house,  they  mounted  to 
the  floor  above.  Here  had  been  the  old  merchant's 
bedroom ;  adjoining  it  were  two  smaller  rooms,  one 
of  which  had  been  used  as  a  place  of  storage  for 
trunks  and  boxes  and  broken  bits  of  furniture;  the 
other  room  was  empty. 

"We  may  as  well  go  back  down-stairs,"  said  the 


PUTTING    ON    THE    SCREWS  83 

gambler,  halting,  lamp  in  hand,  in  the  center  of  the 
empty  room. 

Harbison  nodded,  and  leading  the  way  to  the  floor 
below,  they  rejoined  the  colonel  in  the  sitting-room, 
where  they  made  themselves  as  comfortable  as  pos- 
sible. 

The  colonel  and  his  nephew  talked  in  subdued 
tones,  principally  of  the  murdered  man ;  they  had  no 
desire  to  exclude  their  companion  from  the  con- 
versation, but  Gilmore  displayed  no  interest  in 
what  was  said.  He  sat  at  the  colonel's  elbow, 
preoccupied  and  thoughtful,  smoking  cigar  after 
cigar.  Presently  the  colonel  and  his  nephew  lapsed 
into  silence.  Their  silence  seemed  to  rouse  Gilmore 
to  what  was  passing  about  him.  He  glanced  at  the 
elder  Harbison. 

"You  look  tired,  Colonel,"  he  said.  "Why  don't 
you  stretch  out  on  that  lounge  yonder  and  take  a 
nap?" 

"I  think  I  shall,  Andy,  if  you  and  Watt  don't 
mind."    And  the  colonel  quitted  his  chair. 

"Better  put  your  coat  over  you,"  advised  the 
gambler. 

He  watched  the  colonel  as  he  made  himself  com- 
fortable on  the  lounge,  then  he  lighted  a  fresh  cigar, 
tilted  his  chair  against  the  wall  and  with  head 
thrown  back  studied  the  ceiling.  Watt  Harbi- 
son made  one  or  two  tentative  attempts  at  conver- 
sation, to  which  Gilmore  briefly  responded,  then  the 
young  fellow  also  became  thoughtful.     He  fell  to 


84       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

watching  the  gambler's  strong  profile  which  the 
lamp  silhouetted  against  the  opposite  wall;  then 
drowsiness  completely  overcame  him  and  he  slept 
in  his  chair  with  his  head  fallen  forward  on  his 
breast. 

Gilmore,  alert  and  sleepless,  smoked  on;  he  was 
thinking  of  Evelyn  Langham.  After  his  interview 
with  her  husband  that  afternoon  he  had  gone  to 
his  own  apartment.  His  bedroom  adjoined  North's 
parlor  and  through  the  flimsy  lath  and  plaster  par- 
tition he  had  distinctly  heard  a  woman's  voice.  The 
sound  of  that  voice  and  the  suspicion  it  instantly  be- 
got added  to  his  furious  hatred  of  North,  for  he  had 
long  suspected  that  something  more  than  friendship 
existed  between  Marshall  Langham's  wife  and  Mar- 
shall Langham's  friend. 

"Damn  him!"  thought  the  gambler.  "I'll  fix  him 
yet !"    And  he  puffed  at  his  cigar  viciously. 

He  had  made  sure  that  North's  mysterious  visitor 
was  Evelyn  Langham,  for  when  she  left  the  building 
he  himself  had  followed  her.  Out  of  the  dregs  of 
his  nature  this  foolish  mad  passion  of  his  had  arisen 
to  torture  him;  he  had  never  spoken  with  Lang- 
ham's wife,  probably  she  knew  him  by  sight,  nothing 
more;  but  still  his  game,  the  waiting  game  he  had 
been  forced  to  play,  was  working  itself  out  better 
than  he  had  even  hoped !  At  last  he  had  Marshall 
Langham  where  he  wanted  him,  where  he  could 
make  him  feel  his  power.  Langham  would  not  be 
able  to  raise  the  money  required  to  cover  up  those 


PUTTING    ON    THE    SCREWS  85 

forgeries,  and  on  the  basis  of  silence  he  would  make 
his  bargain  with  the  lawyer. 

Gilmore  pondered  this  problem  for  the  better  part 
of  an  hour,  considering  it  from  every  conceivable 
angle;  then  suddenly  the  expression  of  his 
face  changed,  he  forgot  for  the  moment  his  am- 
bitions and  his  desires,  his  hatred  and  his  love; 
he  thought  he  heard  the  click  of  the  old-fashioned 
latch  on  the  front  gate.  He  remembered  that  it 
could  be  raised  only  with  difficulty.  Next  he  heard 
the  sound  of  footsteps  approaching  the  house.  They 
seemed  to  come  haltingly  down  the  narrow  brick 
path  which  the  wind  had  swept  clear  of  snow. 

Mr.  Gilmore  was  blessed  with  a  steadiness  of 
nerve  known  to  but  few  men,  yet  the  hour  and  the 
occasion  had  their  influence  with  him.  He  stood 
erect:  now  the  steps  which  had  paused  for  a  moment 
seemed  to  recede;  it  was  as  if  the  intruder,  whoever 
he  might  be,  had  come  almost  to  the  front  door  and 
had  then,  for  some  inexplicable  reason,  gone  back  to 
the  street.  Gilmore  even  imagined  him  as  standing 
there  with  his  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  gate.  He  was 
tempted  to  rouse  his  two  companions,  but  he  did  not, 
and  then,  as  he  still  stood  with  his  senses  tense,  he 
heard  the  steps  again  approach  the  front  door.  With 
a  glance  in  the  direction  of  the  colonel  and  his 
nephew  to  assure  himself  that  they  still  slept,  Gil- 
more rather  shamefacedly  slipped  his  right  hand 
under  the  tails  of  his  coat,  tiptoed  into  the  hall  and 
paused  there  close  by  the  parlor  door.     The  steps 


86       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

outside  continued,  he  heard  the  porch  floor  give  un- 
der a  weight,  and  then  some  one  rapped  softly  on 
the  door. 

Gilmore  waited  an  instant ;  the  rap  was  repeated ; 
he  stepped  to  the  door,  shot  the  bolt  and  opened 
it.  The  storm  had  passed;  it  was  now  cold 
and  clear,  a  brilliant,  starlit,  winter's  night.  He 
saw  the  man  on  the  porch  clearly  as  he  stood  there 
with  the  world  in  white  at  his  back.  Gilmore  in- 
stantly recognized  him,  and  his  hand  came  from  un- 
der the  tails  of  his  coat;  he  closed  the  door  softly. 

''What  sort  of  a  joke  is  this,  Marsh?"  he  de- 
manded in  a  whisper. 

"Joke?"  repeated  the  lawyer  in  a  thick  husky 
voice,  as  he  took  an  uncertain  step  toward  the  gam- 
bler. 

"Your  coming  here  at  this  hour;  if  it  isn't  a  joke, 
what  is  it?" 

Gilmore  saw  that  his  face  was  flushed  with  drink 
while  his  eyes  shone  with  a  light  he  had  never  seen 
in  them  before.  He  must  have  been  abroad  in  the 
storm  for  some  time,  for  the  snow  had  lodged  in  the 
rim  of  his  hat  and  his  shoulders  were  still  white  with 
it;  now  and  again  a  paroxysm  of  shivering  seized 
him. 

"Whisky  chill,"  thought  the  gambler.  "Come  in, 
Marsh !"  he  said,  but  Langham  seemed  to  draw  back 
instinctively. 

"No,  I  guess  not,  Andy !"  and  a  sickly  pallor  over- 
spread his  face. 


PUTTING    ON    THE    SCREWS  87 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  demanded  Gil- 
more. 

"I  want  to  see  you,"  said  the  other.  "I  can't 
go  home  yet."  He  swayed  heavily.  "I  need  to 
talk  to  you  on  a  matter  of  business.  Come  on  out — 
come  on  off  of  here;"  and  he  led  the  way  down  the 
porch  steps.  "Whom  have  you  in  there  with  you?" 
he  questioned  when  he  had  drawn  Gilmore  a  little 
way  along  the  path. 

"The  colonel  and  Watt  Harbison." 

"No  one  else?" 

"No." 

"Do  they  know  I'm  here?" 

"I  guess  not,  they  were  asleep  two  minutes  ago." 

"That's  good.  I  don't  want  to  see  them,  I  want  to 
see  you." 

"Wouldn't  it  keep,  Marsh?"  asked  Gilmore. 

"No,  sir,  it  wouldn't  keep;  I  want  to  tell  you  just 
what  I  think  of  you,  you  damn — " 

"Oh,  that  will  keep,  Marsh,  any  time  will  do  for 
that;  anyway,  you  have  told  me  something  like  that 
already  !    When  you  sober  up — " 

"Do  you  think  I'm  drunk?" 

"I  don't  think  anything  about  it." 

"Well,  maybe  I  am,  I  have  been  under  a  strain. 
But  I'm  not  too  drunk  to  attend  to  business;  I  am 
never  too  drunk  for  that.  I  wish  to  say  I  have  the 
money — " 

His  lips  twitched,  and  Gilmore,  watching  him  fur- 
tively, saw  that  he  was  again  shivering. 


88       THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

"You  got  what,  Marsh  ?"  demanded  Gilmore  in  a 
whisper. 

"The  money,  the  money  I  owe  you !" 

"Oh,  I  see!"  He  fell  back  a  step  and  stared  at 
Langham;  there  was  apprehension  dawning  in  his 
eyes.     "Where  did  you  get  it?"  he  asked. 

But  Langham  shook  his  head. 

"That's  my  business;  it's  enough  for  you  to  get 
your  money." 

"Well,  you  were  quick  about  it,"  said  Gilmore, 
and  he  rested  his  hand  on  the  lawyer's  arm. 

Langham  moved  a  step  aside. 

"You  threatened  me,"  he  said  resentfully,  but 
with  drunken  dignity.  "You  were  going  to  smash 
me;  I  wish  to  say  that  now  you  can  smash  and  be 
damned !     I  have  the  money — " 

"Oh,  come,  Marsh!  Don't  you  feel  cut  up  about 
that;  I  didn't  mean  to  make  you  mad;  you  mustn't 
hold  that  against  me !" 

"You  come  to  my  office  to-morrow  and  get  your 
money,"  said  Langham,  still  with  dignity.  "I've 
been  under  a  great  strain  getting  that  money,  and 
now  I'm  done  with  you — " 

Gilmore  laughed. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?" 

"You,  you  fool!  But  you  aren't  done  with  me; 
we'll  be  closer  friends  than  ever  after  this.  Just  now 
you  are  too  funny  for  me  to  take  seriously.  You  go 
home  and  sleep  off  this  drunk;  that's  my  advice  to 
you !     I'd  give  a  good  deal  to  know  where  you  have 


PUTTING    ON    THE    SCREWS  89 

been  and  what  sort  of  a  fool  you  have  been  making 
of  yourself  since  I  saw  you  last!"  added  Gilmore. 

''Don't  you  worry  about  me;  I'm  all  right.  What 
I  want  to  say  is,  lend  me  your  keys ;  I  can't  go  home 
this  way — lend  me  your  keys  and  I'll  go  to  your 
rooms  and  sleep  it  off." 

"All  right,  Marsh ;  think  you  can  get  there?" 

"Of  course;  I'm  all  right." 

"And  you'll  go  there  if  I  give  you  my  keys — 
you'll  go  nowhere  else?" 

"Of  course  I  won't,  Andy!" 

"You  won't  stop  to  talk  with  any  one?" 

"Who'll  I  find  to  talk  with  at  this  time  of  the 
night?"  laughed  the  drunken  man  derisively.  "It's 
three  o'clock!     Say,  Andy,  who'll  I  find  to  talk  to?" 

"By  God,  I  hope  no  one,  you  fool!"  muttered  Gil- 
more. 

"Well,  give  me  the  keys,  Andy.  I'll  go  along  and 
get  to  bed,  and  I  want  you  to  forget  this  conversa- 
tion—" 

"Oh,  I'll  forget  it  all  right,  Marsh — but  you  won't 
after  you  come  to  your  senses!"  he  added  under  his 
breath. 

"Give  me  the  keys — thanks.  Good  night,  Andy! 
I'll  see  you  in  the  morning.,, 

He  reeled  uncertainly  down  the  path,  cursing  his 
treacherous  footing  as  he  went.  At  the  gate  he 
paused  and  waved  an  unsteady  farewell  to  the  gam- 
bler, who  stood  on  the  porch  staring  after  him. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

THE   BEAUTY   OF   ELIZABETH 

I"  IS  interview  with  Evelyn  Langham  left  North 
171  with  a  sense  of  moral  nausea,  yet  he  felt  he 
had  somehow  failed  in  his  comprehension  of  her, 
that  she  had  not  meant  him  to  understand  her  as  he 
had;  that,  after  all,  perhaps  the  significance  he  had 
given  to  her  words  was  of  his  own  imagining. 

He  waited  in  his  room  until  she  should  have 
time  to  be  well  on  her  way  home,  then  hurried 
down-stairs.  He  was  to  dine  at  the  Herberts'  at 
seven  o'clock,  and  as  their  place  was  but  scant  two 
miles  from  town,  he  determined  to  walk.  He  crossed 
the  Square,  only  stopping  to  speak  with  the  little 
lamplighter,  and  twenty  minutes  later  Mount  Hope, 
in  the  cold  breath  of  the  storm,  had  dwindled  to  a 
huddle  of  faint  ghostly  lights  on  the  hillside  and  in 
the  valley. 

The  Herbert  home,  a  showy  country-place  in  a 
region  of  farms,  merited  a  name;  but  no  one  except 
Mrs.  Herbert,  who  in  the  first  flush  of  possession 
determined  so  to  dignify  it,  had  ever  made  use  of  the 
name  she  had  chosen  after  much  deliberation.  Gen- 
eral Herbert  himself  called  it  simply  the  farm,  while 

90 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    ELIZABETH        91 

to  the  neighbors  and  the  dwellers  in  Mount  Hope  it 
was  known  as  the  general's  place,  which  perhaps  suf- 
ficiently distinguished  it;  for  its  owner  was  still  al- 
ways spoken  of  as  the  general,  though  since  the  war 
he  had  been  governor  of  his  state. 

Rather  less  than  half  a  century  before,  Daniel 
Herbert,  then  a  country  urchin  tending  cattle  on 
the  hillside  where  now  stood  his  turreted  stone  man- 
sion, had  decided  that  some  day  when  he  should 
be  rich  he  would  return  and  buy  that  hillside 
and  the  great  reach  of  flat  river-bottom  that  lay  ad- 
jacent to  it,  and  there  build  his  home.  His  worldly 
goods  at  the  time  of  this  decision  consisted  of  a 
pair  of  jeans  trousers,  a  hickory  shirt,  and  a  battered 
straw  hat.  For  years  he  had  forgotten  his  boyish 
ambition.  He  had  made  his  way  in  the  world;  he 
had  won  success  in  his  profession,  the  law;  he 
had  won  even  greater  distinction  as  a  soldier  in  the 
Civil  War;  he  had  been  a  national  figure  in  politics, 
and  he  had  been  governor  of  his  state.  And  then 
had  come  the  country-bred  man's  hunger  for  the 
soil.  He  had  remembered  that  hillside  where  as  a 
boy  he  had  tended  his  father's  herds. 

He  was  not  a  rich  man,  but  he  had  married  a  rich 
woman,  and  it  was  her  money  that  bought  the  many 
acres  and  built  the  many-turreted  mansion.  Wish- 
ing, perhaps,  to  mark  the  impermanency  of  the 
life  there  and  to  give  it  a  purely  holiday  aspect,  Mrs. 
Herbert  had  christened  the  place  Idle  Hour;  but 
the   governor,    beyond   occasional   participation    in 


92       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

local  politics,  never  again  resumed  those  activities 
by  which  he  had  so  distinguished  himself.  He  wore 
top-boots  and  rode  about  the  farm  on  an  old  gray 
horse,  while  his  intimates  were  the  neighboring 
farmers,  with  whom  he  talked  crops  and  politics  by 
the  hour. 

In  pained  surprise  Mrs.  Herbert,  a  woman  of 
great  ambition,  had  endured  five  years  of  this  kind 
of  life;  with  unspeakable  bitterness  of  spirit  she  had 
seen  the  once  potent  name  of  Daniel  Herbert  disap- 
pear from  the  newspapers,  and  then  she  had  died. 

On  her  death  the  general  became  a  rich  and,  in  a 
way,  a  free  man,  for  now  he  could,  without  the  silent 
protest  of  his  wife,  recover  the  neglected  lore  of 
wood  and  field,  and  practise  forgotten  arts  that  had 
in  his  boyhood  come  under  the  elastic  head  of 
chores.  Elizabeth,  his  daughter,  had  never  shared 
her  mother's  ambitions.  Perhaps  because  she  had 
always  had  it  she  cared  nothing  for  society.  She 
was  well  content  to  ride  about  the  farm  with  her 
father,  whom  she  greatly  admired,  and  at  whose 
eccentricities  she  only  smiled. 

In  this  agreeable  comradeship  with  his  daughter, 
General  Herbert  had  lived  through  the  period  of  his 
bereavement  with  very  tolerable  comfort.  He  had 
rendered  the  dead  the  dead's  due  of  regretful  ten- 
derness; but  Elizabeth  never  asked  him  when  he  was 
going  to  make  his  reentry  into  politics ;  and  she  never 
reproached  him  with  having  wasted  the  very  best 
years  of  his  life    in  trying  to  make  four  hundred 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    ELIZABETH        93 

acres  of  scientifically  farmed  land  show  a  profit,  a 
feat  he  had  not  yet  accomplished. 

Quitting  the  highway,  North  turned  in  at  two 
stone  pillars  that  marked  the  entrance  to  Idle  Hour 
and  walked  rapidly  up  the  maple-lined  driveway 
to  the  great  arched  vestibule  that  gave  to  the  house 
the  appearance  of  a  Norman-French  chateau. 

Answering  the  summons  of  the  bell,  a  maid  ush- 
ered him  into  the  long  drawing-room,  and  into  the 
presence  of  the  general  and  his  daughter.  The  for- 
mer received  North  with  a  perceptible  shade  of  re- 
serve. He  knew  more  about  the  young  man  than  he 
would  have  cared  to  tell  his  daughter,  since  he  be- 
lieved it  would  be  better  for  her  to  make  her  own 
discoveries  where  North  was  concerned.  He  had  not 
opposed  his  frequent  visits  to  Idle  Hour,  for  he  felt 
that  if  Elizabeth  was  interested  in  the  young  fellow 
opposition  would  only  strengthen  it.  Glancing  at 
North  as  he  greeted  Elizabeth,  the  general  admitted 
that  whatever  he  might  be,  he  was  presentable,  in- 
deed good-looking,  handsome.  Why  hadn't  he  done 
something  other  than  make  a  mess  of  his  life !  He 
wondered,  too,  wishing  to  be  quite  fair,  if  North  had 
not  been  the  subject  of  a  good  deal  of  unmerited  cen- 
sure, if,  after  all,  his  idleness  had  not  been  the  worst 
thing  about  him.  He  hoped  this  might  be  true.  Still 
he  regretted  that  Elizabeth  should  have  allowed 
their  boy  and  girl  friendship — they  had  known  each 
other  always — to  grow  into  a  closer  intimacy. 

In  the  minds  of  these  two  men  there  was  absolute 


94       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

accord  on  one  point.  Either  would  have  said  that 
Elizabeth  Herbert's  beauty  was  a  supreme  endow- 
ment, and  more  nearly  perfect  than  the  beauty  of 
any  other  woman.  She  was  slender,  not  tall,  but 
poised  and  graceful  with  a  distinction  of  bearing 
that  added  to  her  inches.  Her  hair  was  burnished 
copper  and  her  coloring  the  tint  of  warm  ivory  with 
the  sunlight  showing  through.  North  gazed  at  her 
as  though  he  would  store  in  his  memory  the  vision 
of  her  loveliness.  Then  they  walked  out  to  the  din- 
ing-room. 

The  dinner  was  rather  a  somber  feast.  North  felt 
the  restraint  of  the  general's  presence;  he  sensed 
his  disfavor;  and  with  added  bitterness  he  realized 
that  this  was  his  last  night  in  Mount  Hope,  that  the 
morrow  would  find  him  speeding  on  his  way  West. 
He  had  given  up  everything  for  nothing,  and  now 
that  a  purpose,  a  hope,  a  great  love  had  come  to  him, 
he  must  go  from  this  place,  the  town  of  his  birth, 
where  he  had  become  a  bankrupt  in  both  purse  and 
reputation. 

It  was  a  relief  when  they  returned  to  the  drawing- 
room.  There  the  general  excused  himself,  and  North 
and  Elizabeth  were  left  alone.  She  seated  herself  be- 
fore the  open  fire  of  blazing  hickory  logs,  whose 
light,  and  that  of  the  shaded  lamps,  filled  the  long 
room  with  a  soft  radiance.  She  had  never  seemed 
so  desirable  to  North  as  now  when  he  was  about  to 
leave  her.  He  stood  silent,  leaning  against  the  cor- 
ner of  the  chimneypiece,  looking  down  on  all  her 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    ELIZABETH        95 

springlike  radiance.  Usually  he  was  neither  preoc- 
cupied nor  silent,  but  to-night  he  was  both.  The 
thought  that  he  was  seeing  her  for  the  last  time — Ah, 
this  was  the  price  of  all  his  folly!  At  length  he 
spoke. 

"I  came  to-night  to  say  good-by,  Elizabeth  \" 

She  glanced  up,  startled. 

"To  say  good-by?"  she  repeated. 

He  nodded  gloomily. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  are  going  to  leave  Mount 
Hope?"  she  asked  slowly. 

"Yes,  to-night  maybe." 

Her  glance  no  longer  met  his,  but  he  was  conscious 
that  she  had  lost  something  of  her  serenity. 

"Are  you  sorry,  Elizabeth?"  he  ventured. 

To  pass  mutely  out  of  her  life  had  suddenly 
seemed  an  impossibility,  and  his  tenderness  and 
yearning  trembled  in  his  voice.  She  answered 
obliquely,  by  asking : 

"Must  you  go?" 

"I  want  to  get  away  from  Mount  Hope.  I  want  to 
leave  it  all, — all  but  you,  dear!"  he  said.  "You 
haven't  answered  me,  Elizabeth;  will  you  care?" 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said  slowly,  and  the  light  in  her 
gray-blue  eyes  darkened. 

She  heard  the  sigh  that  wasted  itself  on  his  lips. 

"I  am  glad  you  can  say  that, — I  wish  you  would 
look  up !"  he  said  wistfully. 

"Are  you  going  to-night?"  she  questioned. 

"Yes,  but  I  am  coming  back.     I  shan't  find  that 


96       THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

you  have  forgotten  me  when  I  come,  shall  I,  Eliza- 
beth ?" 

She  looked  up  quickly  into  his  troubled  face,  and 
it  was  not  the  warm  firelight  that  brought  the  rich 
color  in  a  sudden  flame  to  her  cheeks. 

"I  shall  not  forget  you." 

There  was  a  determined  gentleness  in  her  speech 
and  manner  that  gave  him  courage. 

"I  haven't  any  right  to  talk  to  you  in  this  way ;  I 
know  I  haven't,  but — Oh,  I  want  you,  Elizabeth !" 
And  all  at  once  he  was  on  his  knees  beside  her,  his 
arms  about  her.  "Don't  forget  me,  dear !  I  love  you, 
I  love  you — I  want  you — Oh,  I  want  you  for  my 
wife!" 

The  girl  looked  into  the  passionate  face  upturned 
to  hers,  and  then  her  head  drooped.  And  so  they  re- 
mained long;  his  dark  head  resting  in  her  arms;  her 
fair  face  against  it. 

"Why  do  you  go,  John?"  she  asked  at  length,  out 
of  the  rich  content  of  their  silence. 

"I  haven't  any  choice,  dear  heart;  there  isn't  any 
place  for  me  here.  I  have  thought  it  all  over,  and  I 
know  I  am  doing  the  wise  thing, — I  am  quite  sure  of 
this !  I  shall  write  you  of  everything  that  concerns 
me!"  he  added  hastily,  as  he  heard  the  tread  of  the 
general's  slippered  feet  in  the  hall. 

North  released  her  hands  as  the  general  entered 
the  room.  Elizabeth  sank  back  in  her  chair.  Her 
father  glanced  sharply  at  them,  and  North  turned 
toward  him  frankly. 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    ELIZABETH        97 

"I  am  leaving  on  the  midnight  train,  General,  and 
I  must  say  good-by;  I  have  to  get  a  few  things 
together  for  my  trip  !" 

General  Herbert  glanced  again  at  Elizabeth,  but 
her  face  was  averted  and  he  learned  nothing  from  its 
expression. 

"So  you  are  going  away!  Well,  North,  I  hope 
you  will  have  a  pleasant  trip, — better  let  me  send 
you  into  town?" 

And  he  reached  for  the  bell-rope.  North  shook 
his  head. 

"I'll  walk,  thank  you,"  he  said  briefly. 

In  silence  he  turned  to  Elizabeth  and  held  out  his 
hand.  For  an  instant  she  rested  hers  in  it,  a  cold 
little  hand  that  trembled;  their  eyes  met  in  a  brief 
glance  of  perfect  understanding,  and  then  North 
turned  from  her.  The  general  followed  him  into 
the  hall. 

"It's  stopped  snowing,  and  you  will  have  clear 
starlight  for  your  walk  home, — the  wind's  gone 
down,  too !"  he  said,  as  he  opened  the  hall  door. 

"Don't  come  any  farther,  General  Herbert!"  said 
North. 

But  the  general  followed  him  into  the  stone  arched 
vestibule. 

"It's  a  fine  night  for  your  walk, — but  you're  quite 
sure  you  don't  want  to  be  driven  into  town?" 

"No,  no, — good  night."  And  North  held  out  his 
hand. 

"Good  night." 


98        THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

North  went  down  the  carriageway,  and  Herbert 
reentered  the  house. 

North  kept  to  the  beaten  path  for  a  little  while, 
then  left  it  and  tramped  out  across  the  fields  until  he 
came  to  a  strip  of  woodland  that  grew  along  a  stony 
hillside.  He  followed  this  ridge  back  a  short  distance 
and  presently  emerged  upon  a  sloping  meadow  that 
overhung  a  narrow  ravine.  Not  two  hundred  yards 
distant  loomed  Idle  Hour,  somber  and  dark  and 
massive.  He  found  a  stump  on  the  edge  of  the  woods 
and  brushed  the  snow  from  it,  then  drawing  his 
overcoat  closely  about  him,  he  sat  down  and  lit  his 
pipe. 

The  windows  of  Idle  Hour  still  showed  their 
many  lights.  At  his  feet  a  thread-like  stream, 
swollen  by  the  recent  rains,  splashed  and  mur- 
mured ceaselessly.  He  sat  there  a  long  time  silent 
and  absorbed,  watching  the  lights,  until  at  last  they 
vanished  from  the  drawing-room  and  the  library. 
Then  other  lights  appeared  behind  curtained  win- 
dows on  the  second  floor.  These  in  their  turn  were 
extinguished,  and  Idle  Hour  sank  deeper  into  the 
shadows  as  the  crescent  moon  slipped  behind  the 
horizon, 

"God bless  her!"  North  said  aloud. 

He  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  and  re- 
traced his  steps  to  the  drive.  He  had  but  turned 
from  this  into  the  public  road  when  he  heard  the 
clatter  of  wheels  and  the  beat  of  hoofs,  and  a  rapidly 
driven  team  swung-  around  a  bend  in  the  road  in 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    ELIZABETH       99 

front  of  him.  He  stepped  aside  to  let  it  pass,  but  the 
driver  pulled  up  abreast  of  him  with  a  loud  com- 
mand to  his  horses. 

"Heard  the  news?"  he  asked,  leaning  out  over  the 
dash-board  of  his  buggy. 

"What  news?"  asked  North. 

"Oh,  I  guess  you  haven't  heard!"  said  the 
stranger.  "Well,  old  man  McBride,  the  hardware 
merchant,  is  dead!     Murdered!" 

"Murdered!"  cried  North. 

"Yes,  sir, — murdered !  They  found  him  in  his 
store  this  evening  a  little  after  six.  No  one  knows 
who  did  it.  Well,  good  night,  I  thought  maybe 
you'd  like  to  know.    Awful,  ain't  it?" 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

A   GAMBLER   AT    HOME 

rwas  morning,  and  Mr.  Gilmore  sat  by  his  cheer- 
ful open  fire  in  that  front  room  of  his,  where  by 
night  were  supposed  to  flourish  those  games  of 
chance  which  were  such  an  offense  to  the  "better  ele- 
ment" in  Mount  Hope.  Mr.  Gilmore  was  hardly  a 
person  of  unexceptional  taste,  though  he  had  no  sus- 
picion of  this  fact,  since  he  counted  that  room  quite 
all  that  any  gentleman's  parlor  should  be. 

It  was  a  large  room  furnished  in  dark  velvet  and 
heavy  walnut.  The  red  velvet  curtains  at  the  win- 
dows, when  drawn  at  night,  permitted  no  ray  of 
light  to  escape;  the  carpet  was  a  gorgeous  Brussels 
affair,  the  like  of  which  both  as  to  cost  and  enduring 
splendor  was  not  to  be  found  elsewhere  on  any  floor 
in  Mount  Hope.  Seated  as  he  then  was,  Gilmore 
could  look,  if  so  disposed,  at  the  reflection  of  his  own 
dark  but  not  unhandsome  face  in  a  massive  gilt- 
framed  mirror  that  reached  from  chimneypiece  to 
ceiling;  or,  glancing  about  the  room,  his  eyes  could 
dwell  with  genuine  artistic  pleasure  on  numerous 
copies  in  crayon  of  French  figure-studies;  nor  were 
the  like  of  these  to  be  found  elsewhere  in  Mount 
Hope. 

ioo 


A    GAMBLER    AT    HOME  101 


Gilmore  had  quitted  the  McBride  cottage  some 
three  hours  before,  and  in  the  interim  had  break- 
fasted well  and  napped  abstemiously.  Presently  he 
must  repair  to  the  court-house,  where,  it  had  already 
been  intimated,  the  coroner  might  wish  to  confer 
with  him. 

Marshall  Langham  he  had  not  seen.  He  had  ex- 
pected to  find  him  still  in  his  rooms,  but  the  lawyer 
had  left  the  key  under  the  mat  at  the  door,  presum- 
ably at  an  early  hour.  Gilmore  wondered  idly  if 
Langham  had  not  made  a  point  of  getting  away  be- 
fore he  himself  should  arrive;  he  rather  thought  so, 
and  he  smiled  with  cheerful  malevolence  at  his  own 
reflection  in  the  mirror. 

Here  his  reveries  were  broken  in  on  by  the 
awkward  shuffling  of  heavy  feet  in  the  hallway, 
and  then  some  one  knocked  loudly  on  his  door.  Gil- 
more glanced  hastily  about  to  assure  himself  that 
the  tell-tale  paraphernalia  of  his  craft  were  nowhere 
visible,  and  that  the  room  was  all  he  liked  to  fancy  it 
— the  parlor  of  a  gentleman  with  sufficient  income 
and  quiet  taste. 

"Come  in,"  he  called  at  last,  without  quitting  his 
chair. 

The  door  slowly  opened  and  the  crown  of  a  bat- 
tered cap  first  appeared,  then  a  long  face  streaked 
with  coal-dust  and  grime  and  further  decorated 
about  the  chin  by  a  violently  red  stubble  of  several 
days'  growth.  With  so  much  of  himself  showing, 
the  new-comer  paused  on  the  threshold  in  apparent 


102     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

doubt  as  to  whether  he  would  be  permitted  to  enter, 
or  ordered  to  withdraw 

"Come  in,  Joe,  and  shut  the  door!,,  said  Gilmore. 

At  his  bidding  the  shoulders  and  trunk,  and  lastly 
the  legs  of  a  slouching  shambling  man  of  forty- 
eight  or  fifty  entered  the  room. 

Closing  the  door  Joe  Montgomery  slipped  off  one 
patched  and  ragged  cloth  mitten  and  removed  his 
battered  cap. 

"Well,  what  the  devil  do  you  want?"  demanded 
Gilmore  sharply. 

Joe,  shuffling  and  shambling,  edged  toward  the 
grate. 

"Boss,  I  want  to  drop  a  word  with  you!"  he  said 
in  a  husky  voice.  His  glance  did  not  quite  meet  Gil- 
more's,  but  the  moment  Gilmore  shifted  his  gaze, 
that  moment  Joe's  small,  bright  blue  eyes  sought  the 
gambler's. 

Gilmore  and  Joe  Montgomery  were  distantly  re- 
lated, and  while  the  latter  never  presumed  on  the 
score  of  this  remote  connection,  the  gambler  him- 
self tacitly  admitted  it  by  the  help  he  now  and  then 
extended  him,  for  Montgomery's  means  of  subsist- 
ence were  at  the  best  precarious.  If  he  had 
been  called  on  to  do  so,  he  would  have  described 
himself  as  a  handy-man,  since  he  lived  by  the  doing 
of  odd  jobs.  He  cleaned  carpets  in  the  spring;  he 
cut  lawns  in  the  summer;  in  the  fall  he  carried  coal 
into  the  cellars  of  Mount  Hope,  and  in  the  winter 
he   shoveled    the   snow    off    Mount    Hope's    pave- 


A    GAMBLER    AT    HOME  103 

merits;  and  at  all  times  and  in  all  seasons,  whether 
these  industries  flourished  or  languished,  he  drank. 

He  now  established  himself  on  Mr.  Gilmore's 
hearth, — a  necessity — for  he  bent  his  hulking  body 
and  stuck  his  curly  red  head  well  into  the  grate; 
then  as  he  withdrew  it,  he  passed  the  back  of  his 
hand  across  his  discolored  lips. 

"Excuse  me,  boss,  I  had  to !"  he  apologized. 

In  Mr.  Gilmore's  presence  Joe  inclined  toward  a 
humble  decency,  for  he  was  vaguely  aware  that  he 
was  an  unclean  thing,  and  that  only  the  mysterious 
bond  of  blood  gave  him  this  rich  and  powerful 
patron. 

"Well,  you  old  sot!"  said  Gilmore  pleasantly. 
"You  haven't  drunk  yourself  to  death  since  I  saw 
you  in  McBride's  last  night?" 

The  handy-man  gave  him  a  wide  toothless  grin, 
and  his  bashful  blue  eyes  shifted,  shuttle-wise,  in 
their  sockets  until  he  was  able  to  survey  in  full  the 
splendor  of  the  apartment. 

"Boss,  you  got  a  sure-enough  well-dressed  room; 
I  never  seen  anything  that  could  hold  a  candle  to  it, 
— it's  a  bird !"  He  stole  a  shy  abashed  glance  at  the 
pictures  on  the  wall,  but  becoming  aware  that  Gil- 
more  was  watching  him,  he  dropped  his  eyes  in  some 
confusion.  "I  reckon  them  female  pictures  cost  a 
fortune !"  he  said. 

"They  cost  enough !"  rejoined  Gilmore,  and  again 
Montgomery  ventured  a  covert  glance  in  the  direc- 
tion of  one  of  the  works  of  art. 


104     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"I  reckon  it  was  summer-time!"  he  hinted  mod- 
estly. 

Gilmore  laughed. 

"How  would  you  like  one  of  them?"  he  asked. 

Montgomery  gave  him  a  swift  glance  of  alarm. 

"No,  boss,  I'm  a  respectable  married  man,  and  if 
I  lugged  one  of  them  ladies  home  with  me,  my  old 
woman  wouldn't  do  a  thing  but  raise  hell!  Boss, 
they're  raw;  yes,  sir,  that's  it — they're  raw!"  Then 
fearing  he  had  gone  too  far  in  an  adverse  criticism, 
he  added,  "Friends  of  yours,  boss?" 

"Not  all  of  them !"  said  Gilmore,  with  lazy  amuse- 
ment. 

"Catched  unawares?"  hinted  Montgomery.  But 
Gilmore  changed  the  subject  abruptly. 

"Well,  what  did  you  come  here  for?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"I  got  a  lot  of  things  on  my  mind,  boss!  I  been 
a-worryin'  all  morning  and  then  I  thinks  of  you. 
'Mr.  Gilmore's  the  man  to  go  to,'  I  tells  myself,  and  I 
quit  my  job  and  come  here." 

He  stuck  his  head  into  the  grate  again,  but  this 
time  without  apology. 

"I  suppose  you  are  in  trouble?"  said  Gilmore,  and 
his  genial  mood  seemed  to  chill  suddenly. 

"You're  right,  boss,  I'm  in  a  heap  of  trouble!" 

"Well,  then,  clear  out  of  here!"  said  Gilmore. 

"Hold  on,  boss,  it  ain't  that  kind  of  trouble!"  in- 
terposed the  handy-man  hastily. 

"What  do  you  want?" 


A    GAMBLER    AT    HOME  105 

"Advice." 

Gilmore  leaned  back  in  his  easy-chair  and  crossed 
his  legs. 

"Go  on!"  he  ordered  briefly. 

"A  handy-man  like  me  doin'  all  kinds  of  jobs  for 
all  kinds  of  people  is  sure  to  see  some  curious  things, 
ain't  he,  boss?" 

"Well?" 

"I'm  here  to  tell  you  what  I  seen,  boss;  and  every 
word  of  it  will  be  God  A'mighty's  truth!" 

"It  had  better  be !"  rejoined  Gilmore  quietly,  but 
with  significant  emphasis. 

"I  don't  want  no  better  friend  than  you  been  to 
me,"  said  Montgomery  in  a  sudden  burst  of  grateful 
candor.  "You've  paid  two  fines  for  me,  and  you 
done  what  you  could  for  me  that  time  I  was  sent  up, 
when  old  man  Murphy  said  he  found  me  in  his  hen- 
house." 

Gilmore  nodded. 

"I  was  outrageous  put  upon !  The  judge  appointed 
that  fellow  Moxlow  to  defend  me !  Say,  it  was  a  hell 
of  a  defense  he  put  up,  and  I  had  a  friend  who  was 
willin'  to  swear  he'd  seen  me  in  the  alley  back  of 
Mike  Lonigan's  saloon  cleaning  spittoons  when  old 
man  Murphy  said  I  was  in  his  chicken  house;  Mox- 
low said  he  wouldn't  touch  my  case  except  on  its 
merits,  and  the  only  merit  it  had  was  that  friend, 
ready  and  willin'  to  swear  to  anything!"  Mont- 
gomery shrugged  his  great  slanting  shoulders. 
"He's  too  damn  perpendicular!" 


1 06     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"He  is,"  agreed  Gilmore.  "But  what's  this  got  to 
do  with  what  you  saw  ?" 

"Not  a  thing;  but  it  makes  me  sweat  blood  when- 
ever I  think  of  the  trick  Moxlow  served  me, — it  ain't 
as  if  I  had  no  one  but  myself!  I  got  a  family,  see? 
/  can't  afford  to  go  to  jail, — it  ain't  as  if  I  was  sin- 
gle!" 

"Get  back  to  your  starting-point,  Joe!"  said  Gil- 
more. 

"Who  do  you  think  killed  old  man  McBride, 
boss?" 

"How  should  I  know?" 

"You  ain't  got  any  ideas  about  that?"  asked  Mont- 
gomery. 

Gilmore  shot  him  a  swift  glance. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  have  or  not,"  he  replied. 

"I  have,  boss." 

"You?"  His  tone  betrayed  neither  eagerness  nor 
interest. 

"That's  what  fetches  me  here,  boss !"  Joe  replied, 
sinking  his  voice  to  a  whisper.  "I  got  a  damn  good 
notion  who  killed  old  McBride ;  I  could  go  out  on  the 
street  and  put  my  hand  on  the  man  who  done  it !" 

"You  mustn't  come  here  with  these  pipe  dreams  of 
yours,  Joe;  you  have  been  drunk  and  all  this  talk 
about  the  McBride  murder's  gone  to  your  head!"  re- 
torted Gilmore  contemptuously. 

"I  hope  I  may  die  if  I  ain't  as  sober  as  you  this 
minute,  boss!"  returned  the  handy-man  impress- 
ively. 


A    GAMBLER    AT    HOME  107 

"Well,  what  do  you  know — or  think  you  know?" 
asked  Gilmore  with  affected  indifference. 

"Boss,  did  I  ever  lie  to  you?"  demanded  Mont- 
gomery. 

"If  you  did  I  never  found  you  out." 

"And  why?  You  never  had  no  chance  to  find  me 
out;  for  the  reason  that  I  always  tell  you  the  al- 
mighty everlastin'  truth !" 

"Well?"  prompted  Mr.  Gilmore. 

"Boss,"  and  again  Montgomery  dropped  his  voice 
to  a  confidential  whisper,  "boss,  I  seen  a  man  climb 
over  old  man  McBride's  shed  yesterday  just  before 
six.  I  seen  him  come  up  on  top  of  the  shed  from  the 
inside,  look  all  around,  slide  down  to  the  eaves 
and  drop  into  the  alley,  and  then  streak  off  as  if  all 
hell  was  after  him !" 

Gilmore's  features  were  under  such  admirable 
control  that  they  betrayed  nothing  of  what  was  pass- 
ing in  his  mind. 

"Stuff!"  he  ejaculated  at  last,  disdainfully. 

"You  think  I  lie,  boss?"  cried  Montgomery,  in  an 
intense  whisper. 

"You  know  best  about  that,"  said  Gilmore  quietly. 

"He  come  so  close  to  me  I  could  feel  his  breath  in 
my  face !  Boss,  he  was  puffin'  and  pantin'  and  his 
breath  burnt, — yes,  sir,  it  burnt;  and  I  heard  him 
say,  'Oh,  my  God!'  like  that,  'Oh,  my  God!'  " 

"And  where  were  you  when  this  happened?"  de- 
manded Gilmore  with  sudden  sternness. 

Montgomery  hesitated. 


1 08     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  it,  boss?" 

"A  whole  lot ;  come,  out  with  it.  Where  were  you 
to  see  and  hear  all  this?" 

"I  was  in  White's  woodshed,"  said  Montgomery 
rather  sullenly. 

"Oh,  ho,  you  were  up  to  your  old  tricks !" 

"He'll  never  miss  it;  I  couldn't  freeze  to  death; 
there's  a  livin'  comin'  to  me,"  said  the  handy-man 
doggedly. 

"You'll  probably  have  a  try  for  it  back  of  iron 
bars !"  said  Gilmore. 

But  it  was  plain  that  Montgomery  did  not  enjoy 
Mr.  Gilmore's  humor. 

"White's  coal  house  is  right  acrost  the  alley  from 
old  McBride's  shed.  You  can  go  look,  boss,  if  you 
don't  believe  me,  and  there's  a  small  door  opening 
out  on  to  the  alley,  where  the  coal  is  put  in." 

"All  the  same  you  should  keep  out  of  people's  coal 
houses,  or  one  of  these  days  you'll  bring  off  more 
than  you  bargained  for;  say  a  load  of  shot." 

"Maybe  you'd  like  to  know  who  I  seen  come  over 
that  roof?"  said  the  handy-man  impatiently. 

"How  many  people  have  you  told  this  yarn  to  al- 
ready?" asked  Gilmore,  who  seemed  more  anxious 
to  discredit  the  handy-man  in  his  own  eyes  than  any- 
thing else. 

"Not  a  living  soul,  boss ;  I  guess  I  know  enough 
to  hang  a  man — " 

"Pooh !"  said  Gilmore. 

"You  don't  believe  me?" 


A    GAMBLER    AT    HOME  109 

"Yes,  I'll  believe  that  you  were  stealing  White's 
coal." 

"Leave  me  tell  it  to  you  just  as  it  happened,  boss," 
said  Montgomery.  "Then  if  you  say  I  lie,  I  won't 
answer  you  back;  we'll  let  it  go  at  that." 

Gilmore  appeared  to  consider  for  a  moment,  his 
look  of  mingled  indifference  and  contempt  had  quite 
passed  away. 

"I  guess  it  sounds  straight,  Joe!"  he  said  at  length 
slowly. 

"Why?  Because  it  is  straight,  every  damn  word 
of  it,  boss." 

And  as  if  to  give  emphasis  to  his  words  the  handy- 
man swung  out  a  grimy  fist  and  dropped  it  into  an 
equally  grimy  palm. 

"What  did  you  do  after  that?"  asked  Gilmore. 

"Not  much.  I  laid  low  and  presently  lifted  my 
sack  of  coal  out  and  ducked  around  to  Lonigan's 
saloon.  I  went  in  there  by  the  back  door  and  left  my 
sack  leanin'  against  the  building.  Mike  wanted  his 
mail  and  he  give  me  a  drink  of  whisky  if  I'd  take 
his  keys  and  go  to  the  post-office  for  him;  I'd  just 
come  into  the  Square  when  I  run  into  Shrimp  who 
was  tellm*  how  old  man  McBride  was  murdered.  I 
went  into  the  store  and  found  you  there  with  Colonel 
Harbison,  you  remember,  boss?"  Gilmore  nodded 
and  Montgomery  continued.  "I  hadn't  a  chance  to 
tell  you  what  I'd  seen,  and  all  night  long  I  kept 
hearin'  him  say  it !" 

"Say  what,  Joe?" 


no  THE  JUST  AND  THE  UNJUST 

"Say,  'Oh,  my  God!'  like  I  told  you,  boss;  I 
couldn't  sleep  for  it, — I  wonder  if  he  slept!" 

"Joe,"  said  the  gambler,  "I'll  tell  you  something 
that  I  have  only  told  the  sheriff.  I  was  in  Langham's 
office  late  yesterday  and  John  North  was  there;  he 
left  to  go  to  McBride's.  Conklin's  been  looking  for 
him  this  morning,  but  he  can't  find  him,  and  no  one 
seems  to  know  what's  become  of  him.  Do  you  fol- 
low me?" 

"What's  North  got  to  do  with  it,  boss?" 

"How  do  you  know  it  wasn't  North  you  saw  in  the 
alley?"  urged  Gilmore. 

"It  were  not!"  said  Joe  Montgomery  positively. 

"You  saw  the  man's  face?" 

"As  plain  as  I  see  yours !" 

"And  you  know  the  man?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  I'll  tell  you  who  you  saw,"  said  the  gam- 
bler coolly ;  "it  was  Marshall  Langham." 

The  handy-man  swore  a  great  oath. 

"You've  guessed  it,  boss !      You've  guessed  it." 

"It  ain't  a  guess  as  it  happens." 

"Boss,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  knew  all 
along?"  demanded  Montgomery  incredulously. 

"Yes." 

"But  what  about  North?" 

"That's  his  lookout,  let  him  clear  himself." 

Joe,  shambling  and  shuffling,  took  a  turn  about 
the  room. 

"Boss,  if  it  was  me  that  stood  in  his  boots  the  hal- 


A    GAMBLER   AT    HOME  in 

ter  would  be  as  good  as  about  my  neck;  they 
wouldn't  give  me  no  chance  to  clear  myself, — they 
wouldn't  let  me!  Them  smart  lawyers  would  twist 
and  turn  everything  I  said  so  that  God  A'mighty 
wouldn't  know  His  own  truth !" 

"Well,  you  were  in  that  alley,  Joe;  if  you  feel  for 
him,  I  expect  we  could  somehow  shift  it  to  you!" 
said  Gilmore. 

The  handy-man  slouched  to  the  hearth  again. 

"None  of  that,  boss!"  he  cried.  "I've  told  you 
what  took  me  there,  so  none  of  that !" 

His  voice  shook  with  suppressed  feeling,  as  he 
stood  there  scowling  down  on  the  gambler. 

"Sit  down,  Joe!"  said  Mr.  Gilmore,  unruffled. 

Reluctantly  the  handy-man  sank  into  the  chair 
indicated. 

"Now  you  old  sot,"  began  the  gambler,  "you  listen 
to  me!  I  suppose  if  they  could  shift  suspicion  so 
that  it  would  appear  you  had  had  something  to  do 
with  the  old  man's  murder,  it  would  take  Moxlow 
and  the  judge  and  any  decent  jury  no  time  at  all  to 
hang  you ;  for  who  would  care  a  damn  whether  you 
were  hanged  or  not!  But  you  needn't  worry,  I'm  go- 
ing to  manage  this  thing  for  you,  I'm  going  to  see 
that  you  don't  get  into  trouble.  Now,  listen,  you're 
to  let  well  enough  alone.  North  is  already  under  sus- 
picion apparently.  All  right,  wre'll  help  that  suspi- 
cion along.  If  you  have  anything  to  tell,  you'll  say 
that  the  man  who  came  over  that  shed  looked  like 
North!" 


ii2     THE    JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Boss,  I  won't  say  a  word  about  the  shed  or  the 
alley !" 

"Oh,  yes  you  will,  Joe!  The  man  looked  like 
North, — you  remember,  at  the  time  you  thought  he 
looked  like  North,  and  you  thought  you  recognized 
his  voice  when  he  spoke,  and  you  thought  it  was 
North's  voice.  He  had  on  a  black  derby  hat  and  a 
dark  brown  overcoat;  don't  forget  that,  Joe,  for  we 
are  going  to  furnish  young  Mr.  North  with  a  bunch 
of  worries." 

The  handy-man  looked  at  him  doubtfully,  sul- 
lenly. 

"I  don't  want  to  hang  him,  he's  always  treated  me 
white  enough,  though  I  never  liked  him  to  hurt." 

Gilmore  laughed  unpleasantly. 

"Oh,  there's  no  chance  of  that,  your  evidence 
won't  hang  him,  but  it  will  give  him  a  whole  lot  to 
think  about;  and  Langham's  a  pretty  decent  fellow; 
if  you  treat  him  right,  he'll  keep  you  drunk  for  the 
rest  of  your  days ;  you'll  own  him  body  and  soul." 

"A  ignorant  man  like  me  couldn't  go  up  against 
a  sharp  lawyer  like  Marsh  Langham !  Do  you  know 
what'd  happen  to  me?  I'll  tell  you;  I'd  get  so 
damned  well  fixed  I'd  never  look  at  daylight  except 
through  jail  windows;  that's  the  trick  I'd  serve  my- 
self, boss." 

"I'll  take  that  off  your  hands,"  said  Gilmore. 

"And  what  do  you  get  out  of  it,  boss?"  inquired 
the  astute  Mr.  Montgomery. 


A    GAMBLER    AT    HOME  113 

"You'll  have  to  put  your  trust  in  my  benevolence, 
Joe!"  said  the  gambler.  "But  I  am  willing  to  admit 
I  want  to  see  North  put  where  he'll  have  every  in- 
ducement to  attend  strictly  to  his  own  business  I" 


CHAPTER  NINE 

THE   STAR   WITNESS 

IT  was  between  nine  and  ten  o'clock  when  Mar- 
shall Langham  reached  his  office.  He  scarcely 
had  time  to  remove  his  hat  and  overcoat  when  a 
policeman  entered  the  room  and  handed  him  a  note. 
It  was  a  hasty  scrawl  from  Moxlow  who  wished  him 
to  come  at  once  to  the  court-house. 

As  Moxlow's  messenger  quitted  the  room  Lang- 
ham  leaned  against  his  desk  with  set  lips  and  drawn 
face;  this  was  but  the  beginning  of  the  ordeal 
through  which  he  must  pass !  Then  slowly  he  re- 
sumed his  hat  and  overcoat. 

The  prosecuting  attorney's  office  was  on  the  sec- 
ond floor  of  the  court-house,  at  the  back  of  the  build- 
ing, and  its  windows  overlooked  the  court-house 
yard. 

On  the  steps  and  in  the  long  corridors, 
men  stood  about,  discussing  the  murder.  Langham 
pushed  his  way  resolutely  through  these  groups  and 
mounted  the  stairs.  Moxlow's  door  was  locked,  as 
he  found  when  he  tried  to  open  it,  but  in  response  to 
his  knock  a  bolt  was  drawn  and  a  policeman  swung 
open  the  door,  closing  it  the  instant  Marshall  had 

entered. 

114 


THE    STAR    WITNESS  115 

Langham  glanced  around.  Doctor  Taylor — the 
coroner — was  seated  before  the  desk;  aside  from  this 
official  Colonel  Harbison,  Andy  Gilmore,  Shrimplin, 
Moxlow,  Mr.  Allison,  the  mayor,  Conklin,  the 
sheriff,  and  two  policemen  were  present. 

"Thank  you,  that  is  all,  Mr.  Gilmore,"  the  coroner 
had  said  as  Langham  entered  the  room. 

He  turned  and  motioned  one  of  the  policemen  to 
place  a  chair  for  the  prosecuting  attorney  beside  his 
own  at  the  desk. 

"As  you  know,  Mr.  Moxlow,"  the  coroner  began, 
"these  gentlemen,  Mr.  Shrimplin,  Colonel  Harbison 
and  Mr.  Gilmore,  were  the  first  to  view  the  murdered 
man.  Later  I  was  summoned,  and  with  the  sheriff 
spent  the  greater  part  of  the  night  in  making  an  ex- 
amination of  the  building.  We  found  no  clue. 
The  murderer  had  gone  without  leaving  any  trace 
of  his  passing.  It  is  probable  he  entered  by  the  front 
door,  which  Mr.  Shrimplin  found  open,  and  left  by 
the  side  door,  which  was  also  open,  but  the  crowd 
gathered  so  quickly  both  in  the  yard  and  in  the 
street,  that  it  has  been  useless  to  look  for  footprints 
in  the  f reshly  fallen  snow.  One  point  is  quite  clear, 
however,  and  that  is  the  hour  when  the  crime  was 
committed.  We  can  fix  that  almost  to  a  certainty. 
The  murderer  did  his  work  between  half  past  five 
and  six  o'clock.  Mr.  Shrimplin  has  just  informed  us 
that  the  only  person  he  saw  on  the  Square,  until  he 
met  Colonel  Harbison,  was  John  North,  whom  he 
encountered  within  a  block  of  McBride's  store  and 


u6     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

with  whom  he  spoke.  While  Mr.  Shrimplin  stopped 
to  speak  with  Mr.  North  the  town  bell  rang  the 
hour — six  o'clock." 

The  coroner  paused. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  Marshall 
Langham  made  a  half  step  forward.  A  sudden 
palsy  had  seized  him,  yet  he  was  determined  to 
speak;  he  felt  that  he  must  be  heard,  that  he  had 
something  vital  to  say.  An  impulse  he  could  not 
control  compelled  him  to  turn  in  the  direction  of 
Andy  Gilmore,  and  for  a  brief  instant  his  eyes  fast- 
ened themselves  on  the  gambler,  who  returned  his 
gaze  with  a  cynical  smile,  as  though  to  say :  "You 
haven't  the  nerve  to  do  it."  With  the  tip  of  his 
tongue  Langham  moistened  his  swollen  lips.  He 
was  about  to  speak  now,  and  Gilmore,  losing  his 
former  air  of  bored  indifference,  leaned  forward, 
eager  to  catch  every  word. 

"I  would  like  to  say,"  he  began  in  a  tolerably 
steady  voice,  "that  North  left  my  office  at  half  past 
four  o'clock  yesterday  afternoon  intending  to  see 
Mr.  McBride;  indeed,  happening  to  glance  from  my 
window,  I  saw  him  enter  the  store.  Before  he  left 
my  office  he  had  explained  the  business  that  was 
taking  him  to  McBride's;  we  had  discussed  it  at 
some  length." 

"What  took  him  to  McBride's?"  demanded  Doc- 
tor Taylor. 

"He  went  there  to  raise  money  on  some  local  gas 
company  bonds  which  he  owned.    Mr.  McBride  had 


THE    STAR    WITNESS  117 

agreed  to  buy  them  from  him.  I  was  able  to  tell 
North  that  I  knew  McBride  could  let  him  have  the 
money  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  was  a  holiday  and 
the  banks  were  closed."  . 

"How  did  you  happen  to  know  that,  Langham?" 
asked  Moxlow. 

"Earlier  in  the  day  one  of  my  clients  had  placed  in 
McBride's  hand  a  much  larger  sum  of  money  than 
North  expected  to  receive  from  him." 

"You  told  North  that?"  asked  Moxlow  eagerly. 

"I  did.  Perhaps  you  are  not  aware  that  McBride 
and  North  were  on  friendly  terms ;  for  years  it  had 
been  North's  habit  to  go  to  Mr.  McBride  whenever 
he  had  a  sudden  need  of  money.  This  I  know  to  be 
a  fact." 

He  glanced  about  him  and  could  see  that  what 
he  had  said  was  making  its  impression  on  his  hear- 
ers. 

"When  did  you  see  McBride,  at  what  hour?" 
asked  Moxlow. 

"A  little  before  two." 

"Do  you  feel  at  liberty  to  state  the  sum  paid  by 
your  client?" 

"It  was  three  thousand  and  fifty-seven  dollars,  all 
in  cash." 

"There  are  one  or  two  more  questions  I  should  like 
to  ask  you,"  said  Moxlow.  "You  saw  the  money 
paid  into  Mr.  McBride's  hands  before  two  o'clock 
yesterday  afternoon  ?" 

"Yes." 


n8     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Do  you  know  what  disposition  he  made  of  the 
money?" 

"No,  I  do  not." 

"I  mean,  did  he  put  it  in  his  safe — in  his 
pocket — " 

"He  did  neither  in  my  presence,  the  bundle  of  bills 
was  lying  on  his  desk  when  I  left." 

"You  were  not  interrupted  while  you  were  trans- 
acting this  business,  no  customer  happened  into  the 
store  ?"  asked  Moxlow. 

"So  far  as  I  know,  we  three  were  absolutely  alone 
in  the  building." 

"Afterward,  when  North  called  at  your  office,  you 
mentioned  this  transaction?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  know  how  many  shares  Mr.  North  ex- 
pected to  dispose  of?" 

"Five,  I  think." 

Langham  paused  and  glanced  again  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  gambler,  but  Gilmore  seemed  to  have  lost 
all  interest  in  what  was  passing. 

Moxlow  turned  to  Conklin. 

"You  found  no  such  sum  as  Mr.  Langham  men- 
tions, either  on  the  person  of  the  dead  man,  or  in  the 
safe?" 

"No,  the  safe  doors  were  standing  open;  as  far 
as  I  am  able  to  judge,  the  valuable  part  of  its  con- 
tents had  been  removed,"  replied  the  sheriff. 

"How  about  McBride  himself?" 

"We  found  nothing  in  his  pockets." 


THE    STAR    WITNESS  119 

"Of  course,  if  he  bought  North's  bonds,  that  would 
account  for  a  part  of  the  sum  Mr.  Langham  has  just 
told  us  of,"  said  Moxlow.  "But  where  are  the 
bonds?"  he  added. 

"They  were  not  among  McBride's  papers,  that's 
sure,"  said  the  sheriff. 

"Probably  they  were  taken  also,  though  it's  hardly 
conceivable  that  the  murderer  waited  to  sort  over 
the  papers  in  the  safe.  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  his  po- 
sition was  a  ticklish  one."  It  was  the  coroner  who 
spoke. 

"It  would  seem  a  very  desirable  thing  to  com- 
municate with  North,"  suggested  Moxlow. 

"I  guess  you  are  right;  yes,  I  guess  we  had  better 
try  and  find  Mr.  North,"  said  the  coroner.  "Suppose 
you  go  after  him,  Mr.  Conklin.  Don't  send — go 
yourself,"  he  added. 

Again  Langham  dragged  himself  forward;  the 
coils  of  this  hideous  thing  seemed  to  be  tightening 
themselves  about  John  North.  Langham's  face  still 
bore  traces  of  his  recent  debauch,  and  during  the  last 
few  minutes  a  look  of  horror  had  slowly  gathered 
in  his  bloodshot  eyes.  He  now  studiously  avoided 
Gilmore's  glance,  though  he  was  painfully  aware  of 
his  presence.  The  gambler  coolly  puffed  at  a  cigar 
as  he  leaned  against  the  casing  of  the  long  window 
at  Doctor  Taylor's  back;  there  was  the  faint  shadow 
of  a  smile  on  his  lips  as  he  watched  Langham  fur- 
tively. 

"I  doubt  if  North  will  be  found,"  said  the  latter. 


120     THE   JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"I  doubt  if  he  is  in  Mount  Hope,"  he  continued  halt- 
ingly. 

"What?"    It  was  Moxlow  who  spoke. 

"This  morning  I  received  a  brief  communication 
from  him ;  it  was  written  late  last  night ;  he  informed 
me  that  he  should  leave  for  the  West  on  the  Chicago 
express.     He  inclosed  the  keys  to  his  rooms." 

Marshall  Langham  glanced  at  Gilmore,  who 
seemed  deeply  absorbed.  The  coroner  fidgeted  in  his 
seat;  dismay  and  unspeakable  surprise  were  plainly 
stamped  on  Colonel  Harbison's  face;  Moxlow  ap- 
peared quite  nonplussed  by  what  his  partner  had  last 
said. 

"I  was  aware  that  he  contemplated  this  trip 
West,"  said  Langham  quickly.  "He  had  asked  me 
to  dispose  of  the  contents  of  his  rooms  when  he 
should  be  gone.,, 

"Did  he  tell  you  where  he  was  going,  Marshall?" 
asked  Moxlow. 

Langham  raised  his  bloodshot  eyes. 

"No ;  he  seemed  in  some  doubt  as  to  his  plans." 

"For  how  long  a  time  have  you  known  of  Mr. 
North's  intention  to  leave  Mount  Hope?"  asked 
Moxlow. 

"Only  since  yesterday,  but  I  have  known  for  quite 
a  while  that  he  planned  some  radical  move  of  this 
sort.  I  think  he  had  grown  rather  tired  of  Mount 
Hope." 

"Isn't  it  true  that  his  money  was  about  gone?" 
questioned  Moxlow  significantly. 


THE    STAR    WITNESS  121 

"I  know  nothing  of  his  private  affairs,"  answered 
Langham  hastily.  "He  has  never  seemed  to  lack 
money ;  he  has  always  had  it  to  spend  freely." 

"It  would  appear  that  Mr.  North  is  our  star  wit- 
ness; what  do  you  think,  gentlemen  ?"  and  Moxlow 
glanced  from  one  to  another  of  the  little  group  that 
surrounded  him. 

"At  any  rate  he  is  a  most  important  witness,"  em- 
phasized the  coroner. 

"North  took  the  Chicago  express  as  he  had 
planned,"  said  Gilmore  quietly.  "The  bus  driver 
for  the  United  States  Hotel,  where  I  breakfasted, 
told  me  that  he  saw  him  at  the  depot  last  night." 

"I  think  we'd  better  wire  North's  description  to 
the  Chicago  police;  I  see  no  other  way  to  reach 
him."  As  he  spoke,  Moxlow  turned  to  the  sheriff. 
"You  get  ready  to  start  West,  Mr.  Conklin.  And 
don't  let  there  be  any  hitch  about  it,  either." 


CHAPTER  TEN 

HUSBAND   AND   WIFE 

MARSHALL  LANGHAM  paused  on  the 
court-house  steps ;  he  was  shaking  as  with  an 
ague.  He  passed  a  tremulous  hand  again  and  again 
across  his  eyes,  as  though  to  shut  out  something,  a 
memory — a  fantasy  he  wanted  to  forget;  but  he  well 
knew  that  at  no  time  could  he  forget.  Gilmore, 
coming  from  the  building,  stepped  to  his  side. 

"Well,  Marsh,  what  do  you  think?"  he  said. 

"What  do  I  think?"  the  lawyer  repeated  dully. 

"Doesn't  it  seem  to  you  that  Jack  North  has  been 
rather  unlucky  in  his  movements?" 

"Oh,  they  make  me  tired !"  cried  Langham,  with 
sudden  passion. 

Gilmore  stared  at  him,  coldly  critical.  The  law- 
yer moved  away. 

"Going  to  your  office,  Marsh?"  the  gambler  asked. 

"No,  I'm  going  home,"  Langham  said  shortly, 
and  went  down  the  steps  into  the  street. 

Home — until  he  could  pull  up  and  get  control  of 
himself,  that  was  the  best  place  for  him ! 

He  turned  into  the  Square,  and  from  the  Square 
into  High  Street,  and  ten  minutes  later  paused  be- 

122 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE  123 

fore  his  own  door.  After  a  brief  instant  of  irreso- 
lution he  entered  the  house.  Evelyn  was  probably 
down-town  at  that  hour,  on  one  of  the  many  er- 
rands she  was  always  making  for  herself. 

Without  removing  his  hat  or  overcoat  he  dropped 
into  a  chair  before  the  library  fire.  A  devastating 
weariness  possessed  him,  but  he  knew  he  could  not 
hide  there  in  his  home.  To-day  he  might,  to-mor- 
row even,  but  the  time  would  come  when  he  must  go 
out  and  face  the  world,  must  listen  to  the  endless 
speculation  concerning  Mount  Hope's  one  great  sen- 
sation, the  McBride  murder.  Five  minutes  passed 
while  he  sat  lost  in  thought,  then  he  quitted  his  chair 
and  went  to  a  small  cabinet  at  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  which  he  unlocked;  from  it  he  took  a  glass 
and  a  bottle.  With  these  he  returned  to  his  place 
before  the  fire  and  poured  himself  a  stiff  drink. 

"I  was  mad!"  he  said  with  quivering  lips. 
"Mad!"  he  repeated,  and  again  he  passed  his  shak- 
ing hand  across  his  eyes.  Once  more  he  filled  his 
glass  and  emptied  it,  for  the  potent  stuff  gave  him  a 
certain  kind  of  courage.  Placing  the  bottle  and 
glass  on  the  table  at  his  elbow,  he  resumed  his  seat. 

The  bottle  was  almost  empty  when,  half  an  hour 
later,  he  heard  the  house  door  open  and  close.  It 
was  Evelyn.  Presently  she  came  into  the  room,  still 
dressed  as  if  for  the  street. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Marsh?"  she  asked  in 
surprise. 

"Matter?    Nothing,"  he  said  shortly. 


124     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

She  glanced  at  the  bottle  and  then  at  her  husband. 

"Aren't  you  well?"  she  demanded. 

Tni  all  right" 

"I  hope  you  aren't  going  to  start  that  now !"  and 
she  nodded  toward  the  bottle. 

He  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"Marshall,  I  am  going  to  speak  to  the  judge;  per- 
haps if  he  knew  he  could  do  or  say  something;  I  am 
not  going  to  bear  this  burden  alone  any  longer!" 

"Oh,  what's  the  use  of  beginning  that;  can't  you 
see  I'm  done  up?"  he  said  petulantly. 

"I  don't  wonder;  the  way  you  live  is  enough  to  do 
any  one  up,  as  you  call  it ;  it's  intolerable !"  she  cried. 

"What  does  it  matter  to  you?" 

"It  makes  a  brute  of  you ;  it's  killing  you !" 

"The  sooner  the  better,"  he  said. 

"For  you,  perhaps;  but  what  about  me?" 

"Don't  you  ever  think  of  any  one  but  yourself?" 
he  sneered. 

"Is  that  the  way  it  impresses  you?"  she  asked 
coldly. 

She  slipped  into  the  chair  opposite  him  and  began 
slowly  to  draw  off  her  gloves.  Langham  was  silent 
for  a  minute  or  two ;  he  gazed  intently  at  her  and  by 
degrees  the  hard  steely  glitter  faded  from  his  heavy 
bloodshot  eyes.  Fascinated,  his  glance  dwelt  upon 
her;  nothing  of  her  fresh  beauty  was  lost  on  him; 
the  smooth  curve  of  her  soft  white  throat,  the  allur- 
ing charm  of  her  warm  sensuous  lips,  the  tiny  dimple 
that  came  and  went  when  she  smiled,  the  graceful 


Why,    what's    the    matter,    Marsh?" 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE  125 

pliant  lines  of  her  figure,  the  rare  poise  of  her  small 
head — his  glance  observed  all.  For  better  or  for 
worse  he  loved  her  with  whatever  of  the  man  there 
was  in  him ;  he  might  hate  her  in  some  sudden  burst 
of  fierce  anger  because  of  her  shallowness,  her  greed, 
her  utter  selfishness;  but  he  loved  her  always,  he 
could  never  be  wholly  free  from  the  spell  her  beauty 
had  cast  over  him. 

"Look  here,  Evelyn/'  he  said  at  last.  "What's  the 
use  of  going  on  in  this  way,  why  can't  we  get  back 
to  some  decent  understanding?"  He  was  hungry 
for  tenderness  from  her;  acute  physical  fear  was 
holding  him  in  its  grip.  He  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  and  found  support  for  his  head.  "You're 
right,"  he  went  on,  "I  can't  stand  this  racket  much 
longer — this  work  and  worry;  we  are  living  be- 
yond our  means;  we'll  have  to  slow  up,  get  down 
to  a  more  sane  basis."  The  words  came  from  his 
blue  lips  in  jerky  disjointed  sentences.  "What's 
the  use,  it's  too  much  of  a  struggle !  I  do  a  thousand 
things  I  don't  want  to  do,  shady  things  in  my  prac- 
tice, things  no  reputable  lawyer  should  stoop  to,  and 
all  to  make  a  few  dollars  to  throw  away.  I  tell  you, 
I  am  sick  of  it!  Why  can't  we  be  as  other  people, 
reasonable  and  patient — that's  the  thing,  to  be  pa- 
tient, and  just  bide  our  time.  We  can't  live  like  mil- 
lionaires on  my  income,  what's  the  use  of  trying — 
I  tell  you  we  are  fools !" 

"Are  matters  so  desperate  with  us?"  Evelyn 
asked.     "And  is  it  all  my  fault?" 


126     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

"I  can't  do  anything  to  pull  up  unless  you  help 
me,"  Langham  said. 

"Well,  are  matters  so  desperate?"  she  repeated. 

He  did  not  answer  her  at  once. 

"Bad  enough,"  he  replied  at  length  and  was  silent. 

A  sense  of  terrible  loneliness  swept  over  him;  a 
loneliness  peopled  with  shadows,  in  which  he  was 
the  only  living  thing,  but  the  shadows  were  infinitely 
more  real  than  he  himself.  He  had  the  brute 
instinct  to  hide,  and  the  human  instinct  to  share  his 
fear.  He  poured  himself  a  drink.  Evelyn  watched 
him  with  compressed  lips  as  he  drained  the  glass. 
He  drew  himself  up  out  of  the  depths  of  his  chair 
and  began  to  tramp  the  floor;  words  leaped  to  his  lips 
but  he  pressed  them  back;  he  was  aware  that  only 
the  most  intangible  barriers  held  between  them;  an 
impulse  that  grew  in  his  throbbing  brain  seemed 
driving  him  forward  to  destroy  these  barriers;  to 
stand  before  her  as  he  was;  to  emerge  from  his 
mental  solitude  and  claim  her  companionship.  What 
was  marriage  made  for,  if  not  for  this? 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  wheeling  on  her  suddenly. 
"Do  you  still  love  me;  do  you  still  care  as  you  once 
did?"     He  seized  one  of  her  hands  in  his. 

"You  hurt  me,  Marsh!"  she  said,  drawing  away 
from  him. 

He  dropped  her  hand  and  with  a  smothered  oath 
turned  from  her. 

"You  women  don't  know  what  love  is !"  he 
snarled.    "Talk  about  a  woman  giving  up ;  talk  about 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE  127 

her  sacrifices — it's  nothing  to  what  a  man  does, 
where  he  loves !" 

"What  does  he  do  that  is  so  wonderful,  Marsh?" 
she  asked  coldly. 

He  paused  and  regarded  her  with  a  wolfish  glare. 

"It's  no  damned  anemic  passion !"  he  burst  out. 

"Thank  you,"  she  mocked.  "Really,  Marsh,  you 
are  outdoing  yourself!" 

"You  have  never  let  me  see  into  your  heart, — 
never  once!" 

"Perhaps  it's  just  as  well  I  haven't;  perhaps  it  is 
a  forbearance  for  which  you  should  be  only  grate- 
ful," she  jeered. 

"If  you  were  the  sort  of  woman  I  once  thought 
you,  I'd  want  to  hide  nothing  from  you;  but  a 
woman — she's  secretive  and  petty,  she  always  keeps 
her  secrets;  the  million  little  things  she  won't  tell, 
the  little  secrets  that  mean  so  much  to  her — and  a 
man  wastes  his  life  in  loving  such  a  woman,  and  is 
bitter  when  he  finds  he's  given  all  for  nothing!" 

His  heavy  tramping  went  on. 

"Is  that  the  way  you  feel  about  it?"  she  asked. 

"Yes  !"  he  cried.  "I'm  infinitely  more  lonely  than 
when  I  married  you  !  Look  here ;  I  came  to  you,  and 
in  six  months'  time  you  knew  a  thousand  things  you 
had  no  right  to  know,  unless  you,  too,  were  willing 
to  come  as  close!  But  I'm  damned  if  I  know  the 
first  thing  about  you — sometimes  you  are  one  thing, 
sometimes  another.  I  never  know  where  to  find  you  !" 


128     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"And  I  am  to  blame  that  we  are  unhappy?  Of 
course  you  live  in  a  way  to  make  any  woman  per- 
fectly happy-^-you  are  never  at  fault  there  I" 

"You  never  really  loved  me!" 

"Didn't  I  ?"  she  sighed  with  vague  emotion. 

"No." 

"Then  why  did  I  marry  you,  Marsh?" 

"Heaven  knows — I  don't!" 

"Then  why  did  you  marry  me?"  She  gave  him  a 
fleeting  smile. 

"Because  I  loved  you — because  you  had  crept 
into  my  heart  with  your  pretty  ways,  your  charm, 
and  the  fascination  of  you.  I  hadn't  any  thought  but 
you ;  you  seemed  all  of  my  life,  and  I  was  going  to 
do  such  great  things  for  you.  By  God,  I  was 
going  to  amount  to  something  for  your  sake !  I  was 
going  to  make  you  a  proud  and  happy  woman,  but 
you  wouldn't  have  it!  You  never  got  past  the  triv- 
ial things;  the  annoyances,  the  need  of  money,  the 
little  self-denials,  the  little  inconveniences;  you 
stopped  there  and  dragged  me  back  when  I  wanted 
to  go  on;  you  wouldn't  have  it,  you  couldn't  or 
wouldn't  understand  my  hopes — my  ambitions!" 

"Marsh,  I  was  only  a  girl !"  she  said. 

He  put  out  his  hand  toward  the  bottle. 

"Don't,  Marsh !"  she  entreated. 

He  turned  away  and  fell  to  pacing  the  floor  again. 

"What  happiness  do  we  get  out  of  life,  what 
good?    We  go  on  from  day  to  day  living  a  life  that 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE  129 

is  perfectly  intolerable  to  us  both ;  what's  the  use  of 
it — I  wonder  we  stand  it!" 

''I  have  sometimes  wondered  that,  too,"  Evelyn 
half  whispered. 

"You  had  it  in  your  power  to  make  our  life  differ- 
ent, but  you  wouldn't  take  the  trouble;  and  see 
where  we  have  drifted;  you  don't  trust  me  and  I 
don't  trust  you — "  She  started.  "What  sort  of  a 
basis  is  that  for  a  man  and  wife,  for  our  life  to- 
gether?" 

"It's  what  we — what  you  have  made  it!"  she  an- 
swered. 

"No,  it  isn't;  it's  what  you  have" made  it!  I  tell 
you,  you  were  bored  to  death ;  you  wanted  noise  and 
world !  Remember  how  I  used  to  come  home  from 
the  office  every  night,  and  begrudged  the  moments 
when  any  one  called?  I  wanted  only  you;  I  talked 
over  my  cases  with  you,  my  hopes  and  my  ambitions ; 
but  you  mighty  soon  got  sick  of  that — you  yawned, 
you  were  sleepy,  and  you  wanted  to  go  about;  you 
thought  it  was  silly  staying  cooped  up  like  that,  and 
seeing  no  one,  going  nowhere!  It  was  stupid  for 
you,  you  were  bored  to  death,  you  wanted  noise  and 
excitement,  to  spend  money,  to  see  and  be  seen, — as 
if  that  game  was  worth  the  candle  in  a  God-forsaken 
hole  of  a  place  like  Mount  Hope!  You  killed  my 
ambition  then  and  there;  I  saw  it  was  no  use.  You 
wanted  the  results,  but  you  wouldn't  pay  the  price 
in  self-denial  and  patience,  and  so  we  rushed  into 


130     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

debt  and  it's  been  a  scramble  ever  since!  I've 
begged  and  borrowed  and  cheated  to  keep  afloat  I" 

"And  I  was  the  cause  of  it  all?"  she  demanded 
with  lazy  scorn  of  him. 

"There  was  a  time  when  I  stood  a  chance  of  doing 
something,  but  I've  fooled  my  opportunities  away  V 

"What  of  the  promises  you  made  me  when  we 
were  married — what  about  them?"  she  asked. 

"You  created  conditions  in  which  I  could  not  keep 
them!"  he  said. 

"I  seem  to  have  been  wholly  at  fault ;  at  least  from 
your  point  of  view;  but  don't  you  suppose  there  is 
something  /  could  say?  Do  you  suppose  /  sit  here 
silent  because  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  all  my  fault?" 

He  did  not  answer  her  at  once  but  continued  to 
pace  the  floor;  at  length  he  jerked  out: 

"No,  I  was  at  fault  too.  I've  a  nasty  temper.  I 
should  have  had  more  patience  with  you,  Evelyn — 
but  it  was  so  hard  to  deny  you  anything  you  wanted 
that  I  could  possibly  give  you — I'd  have  laid  the 
whole  world  at  your  feet  if  I  could !" 

"I  believe  you  would,  Marsh — then !"  she  said. 

"It's  a  pity  you  didn't  understand  me,"  he  an- 
swered indifferently. 

Nothing  he  could  say  led  in  the  direction  he 
would  have  had  it  lead,  for  he  wanted  her  to  realize 
her  part  in  what  had  happened,  to  know  that  the 
burden  beneath  which  he  had  gone  down  was  in  a 
measure  the  work  of  her  hands.  His  instinct  was  as 
primitive  as  a  child's  fear  of  the  dark;  he  must  es- 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE  131 

cape  from  the  horror  of  his  isolation ;  his  secret  was 
made  doubly  terrifying  because  he  knew  he  dared 
not  share  it  with  any  living  creature.  Yet  his  mind 
played  strange  tricks  with  him ;  he  was  ready  to  risk 
much  that  he  might  learn  what  part  of  the  truth  he 
could  tell  her;  he  was  even  ready  to  risk  all  in  a 
dumb  brute  impulse  to  gather  up  the  remnants  of 
his  strength  of  heart  and  brain,  and  be  the  center  of 
some  widespread  catastrophe;  to  put  his  fear  in  her 
soul  just  as  it  was  in  his  own.  How  was  she  ever  to 
comprehend  the  horror  that  held  him  in  its  cruel 
grasp,  the  thousand  subtle  shades  of  thought  and 
feeling  that  had  led  up  to  this  thing,  from  the  mem- 
ory of  which  he  revolted !  He  turned  his  bloodshot 
eyes  upon  her,  something  of  the  old  light  was  there 
along  with  the  new;  he  had  indeed  loved  her,  but 
the  fruit  of  this  love  had  been  rotten.  He  was  silent, 
and  again  his  heavy  tread  resounded  in  the  room  as 
he  dragged  himself  back  and  forth. 

The  force  in  him  was  stirring  her.  Sensation  of 
any  sort  had  always  made  its  strong  appeal  to  her. 
Without  knowing  what  was  passing  in  his  mind  she 
yet  understood  that  it  was  some  powerful  emotion, 
and  her  pliant  nerves  responded.  For  the  moment 
she  forgot  that  she  no  longer  loved  him.  She  rose 
and  went  to  his  side. 

"Is  it  all  my  fault,  Marsh?"  she  said. 

"What  is  your  fault?"  he  asked,  pausing. 

"That  we  are  so  unhappy;  am  I  the  only  one  at 
fault  there?" 


132     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

He  looked  down  into  her  face  relentingly. 

"I  don't  know — I  swear  I  don't  know!"  he  said 
hoarsely. 

"What  is  it,  Marsh — why  are  you  so  unhappy? 
Just  because  you  love  me  ?  What  an  unkind  thing  to 
say  I" 

He  turned  to  the  table  to  pour  himself  a  drink,  but 
she  caught  his  hand. 

"For  my  sake,  Marsh  !"  she  entreated. 

Again  he  looked  down  into  her  eyes. 

"For  my  sake,"  she  repeated  softly. 

"By  God,  I'll  never  touch  another  drop!"  he  said. 

"Oh,  you  make  me  so  happy!"  she  exclaimed. 

He  crushed  her  in  his  arms  until  his  muscles  were 
tense.  She  did  not  struggle  for  release,  but  aban- 
doned herself  without  a  word  to  the  emotion  of  the 
moment.  Her  head  thrown  back,  her  cheeks  pale, 
her  full  lips  smiling,  she  gazed  up  into  his  face 
with  eyes  burning  with  sudden  fire. 

"How  I  love  you !"  he  whispered. 

She  slipped  her  arms  about  his  neck  with  a  little 
cry  of  ecstasy. 

"Oh,  Marsh,  I  have  been  foolish,  too,  but  this  is 
the  place  for  me — my  place — against  your  very 
heart!"  she  said  softly. 

For  a  long  minute  Langham  held  her  so,  and  then 
tortured  by  sudden  memory  he  came  back  sharply 
to  the  actualities.  His  arms  dropped  from  about 
her. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  she  asked. 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE  133 

She  was  not  yet  ready  to  pass  from  the  passion 
of  that  moment. 

"It's  too  late — "  he  muttered  brokenly. 

"No,  dear,  it's  not  too  late,  we  have  only  been  a 
little  foolish.  Of  course  we  can  go  back;  of  course 
we  can  begin  all  over,  and  we  know  now  what  to 
avoid;  that  was  it,  we  didn't  know  before,  we  were 
ignorant  of  ourselves — of  each  other.  Why,  don't 
you  see,  we  are  only  just  beginning  to  live,  dear — 
you  must  have  faith  I"  and  again  her  arms  encircled 
him. 

"But  you  don't  know — "  he  stammered. 

"Don't  know  what,  dear?" 

He  dropped  into  his  chair,  and  she  sank  on  her 
knees  at  his  side.  A  horrible  black  abyss  into  which 
he  was  falling,  seemed  to  open  at  his  feet.  Her 
hands  were  the  only  ones  that  could  draw  him  back 
and  save  him. 

"Don't  know  what?"  she  repeated. 

The  mystery  of  his  man's  nature,  with  its  mingled 
strength  and  weakness,  was  something  she  could  not 
resist. 

"Does  it  ever  do  any  good  to  pray,  I  wonder?"  he 
gasped. 

"I  wonder,  too !"  she  echoed  breathlessly. 

He  laughed. 

"What  rot  I'm  talking!"  he  said. 

"What  is  it  that  is  wrong,  Marsh?" 

"Nothing — nothing — I  can't  tell  you — " 

"You  can  tell  me  anything,  I  would  always  under- 


134     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

stand — always,  dear.  Prove  to  me  that  our  love  is 
everything;  take  me  back  into  your  confidence!" 

"No,"  he  gasped  hoarsely.  "I  can't  tell  you — 
you'd  hate  me  if  I  did;  you'd  never  forget — you 
couldn't!" 

She  turned  her  eyes  on  him  in  breathless  inquiry. 

"I  would — I  promise  you  now !  Marsh,  I  promise 
you,  can't  you  believe — ?" 

He  shook  his  head  and  gazed  somberly  into  her 
eyes.  She  rested  her  cheek  against  the  back  of  his 
hand  where  it  lay  on  the  arm  of  his  chair.  There 
was  a  long  silence. 

"But  what  is  it,  Marsh  ?    What  has  happened  ?" 

"Nothing's  happened,"  he  said  at  last.  "I'm  a 
bit  worried,  that's  all,  about  myself — my  debts — 
my  extravagance;  isn't  that  enough  to  upset  me? 
Every  one's  crowding  me !" 

There  was  another  long  pause.  Evelyn  sighed 
softly;  she  felt  that  they  were  coming  back  too 
swiftly  to  the  every-day  concerns  of  life. 

"I'm  worried,  too,  about  North!"  Langham  said 
presently. 

"About  North— what  about  North?" 

"They  are  going  to  bring  him  back;  didn't  you 
know  he  had  gone  West?    He  went  last  night." 

"But  who  is  going  to  bring  him  back?" 

"They  want  him  as  a  witness  in  the  McBride  case. 
They — Moxlow,  that  is — seems  to  think  he  knows 
something  that  may  be  of  importance.  He's  a  crazy 
fool,  with  his  notions!" 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE  135 

"But  North — "  Evelyn  began. 

"It  may  make  a  lot  of  trouble  for  him.  They  are 
going  to  bring  him  back  as  a  witness,  and  unless  he 
gives  a  pretty  good  account  of  himself,  Moxlow's 
scheme  is  to  try  and  hold  him — " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  a  good  account  of  him- 
self ?" 

"He'll  have  to  be  able  to  tell  just  where  he  was 
between  half  past  five  and  six  o'clock  last  night; 
that's  when  the  murder  was  committed,  according  to 
Taylor." 

"Do  you  mean  he's  suspected,  Marsh?  But  he 
couldn't  have  done  it!"  she  cried. 

"How  do  you  know?"  he  asked  quickly, 

"Why,  I  was  there—" 

"Where?" 

"With  him—" 

"Here — was  he  here?"  A  great  load  seemed 
lifted  from  him. 

She  was  silent. 

"He  was  here  between  five  and  six?"  he  repeated. 
He  glanced  at  her  sharply.  "Why  don't  you  answer 
me?" 

"No,  he  was  not  here,"  she  said  slowly. 

"Where  was  he,  then?"  he  demanded.  "What's 
the  secret,  anyhow?" 

"Marsh,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  something,"  she 
said  slowly.  "Nothing  shall  stand  between  our  per- 
fect understanding,  our  perfect  trust  for  the  future. 
You  know  I  have  been  none  too  happy  for  the  last 


136     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

year — I  don't  reproach  you — but  we  had  gotten 
very  far  apart  somehow.  I've  never  been  really  bad 
— I've  been  your  true  and  faithful  wife,  dear,  al- 
ways— always,  but — you  had  made  me  very  un- 
happy— "  She  felt  him  shiver.  "And  I  am  not  a 
very  wise  or  settled  person — and  we  haven't  any 
children  to  keep  me  steady — " 

"Thank  God!"  the  man  muttered  hoarsely  under 
his  breath. 

"What  do  you  say?"  she  asked. 

"Nothing — go  on;   what  is   it  you   want  to   tell 


me: 


"Something — and  then  perhaps  you  will  trust  me 
more  fully  with  the  things  that  are  oppressing  you. 
I  believe  you  love  me,  I  believe  it  absolutely — "  she 
paused. 

The  light  died  out  of  his  eyes. 

"Marsh,"  she  began  again.  "Could  you  forgive 
me  if  you  knew  that  I'd  thought  I  cared  for  some 
one  else?  Could  you,  if  I  told  you  that  for  a  mo- 
ment I  had  the  thought — the  silly  thought,  that  I 
cared  for  another  man?"  She  was  conscious  that 
his  hand  had  grown  cold  beneath  her  cheek.  "It 
was  just  a  foolish  fancy,  quite  as  innocent  as  it  was 
foolish,  dear;  you  left  me  so  much  alone,  and  I 
thought  you  really  didn't  care  for  me  any  more,  and 
so — and  so — " 

"Go  on!" 

"Well,  that  is  all,  Marsh." 

"All?" 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE  137 

"Yes,  it  went  no  further  than  that,  just  a  silly 
fancy,  and  I'd  known  him  all  my  life — " 

"Of  whom  are  you  speaking ?" 

"Of  John  North—" 

"Damn  him !"  he  cried.  "And  so  that's  what 
brought  him  here — and  you  were  with  him  last 
night !"  He  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  face  livid.  "What 
do  you  take  me  for?  Do  you  expect  me  to  forgive 
you  for  that — " 

"But  Marsh,  it  was  just  a  silly  sentimental  fancy ! 
Oh,  why  did  I  tell  you !" 

"Yes,  why  did  you  tell  me!"  he  stormed. 

"Because  I  thought  it  would  make  it  easier  for 
you  to  confess  to  me — " 

"Confess  to  you?  I've  nothing  to  confess — I've 
loved  you  honestly !  Did  you  think  I'd  been  carry- 
ing on  some  nasty  sneaking  intrigue  with  a  friend's 
wife — did  you  think  I  was  that  sort  of  a  fellow — 
the  sort  of  a  fellow  North  is?  Do  you  take  me  for 
a  common  blackguard?" 

"Marsh,  don't!  Marshall,  please — for  my 
sake — "  and  she  clung  to  him,  but  he  cast  her  off 
roughly. 

"Keep  away  from  me!"  he  said  with  sullen  re- 
pression, but  there  was  a  murderous  light  in  his  eyes. 
"Don't  touch  me !"  he  warned. 

"But  say  you  forgive  me!" 

"Forgive  you — "     He  laughed. 

"Yes,  forgive  me — Marsh  !" 

"Forgive  you — no,  by  God !" 


138     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

He  reached  for  the  bottle. 

"Not  that — not  that,  Marsh;  your  promise  only 
a  moment  ago — your  promise,  Marsh !" 

But  he  poured  himself  half  a  tumbler  of  whisky 
and  emptied  it  at  a  swallow. 

"To  hell  with  my  promise !"  he  said,  and  strode 
from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

THE   FINGER   OF   SUSPICION 

IN  Chicago  Conklin  found  an  angry  young  man  at 
police  headquarters,  and  the  name  of  this  young 
man  was  John  North. 

"This  is  a  most  damnable  outrage !"  he  cried  hotly 
the  moment  he  espied  Mount  Hope's  burly  sheriff. 

"I  am  mighty  sorry  to  have  interfered  with  your 
plans,  John — just  mighty  sorry."  The  sheriff's  tone 
was  meant  to  soothe  and  conciliate.  "But  you 
see  we  are  counting  on  you  to  throw  some  light  on 
the  McBride  murder." 

"So  that's  it !  I  tell  you,  Conklin,  I  consider  that 
I  have  been  treated  with  utter  discourtesy;  I've  been 
a  virtual  prisoner  here  over  night!" 

"That's  too  bad,  John,"  said  the  sheriff  sympa- 
thetically, "but  we  didn't  know  where  a  wire  would 
reach  you,  so  there  didn't  seem  any  other  way  than 
this—" 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  with  me?"  demanded 
North,  with  rather  less  heat  than  had  marked  his 
previous  speech. 

"They  got  the  idea  back  home  that  you  can  help 
in  the  McBride  matter,"  explained  the  sheriff  again. 
"I  see  that  you  know  he's  been  murdered." 

139 


140     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Yes,  I  knew  that  before  I  left  Mount  Hope,"  re- 
joined North. 

"Did  you,  though?"  said  the  sheriff  briefly,  and 
this  admission  of  North's  appeared  to  furnish  him 
with  food  for  reflection. 

"Well,  what  do  I  know  that  will  be  of  use  to  you  ?" 
asked  North  impatiently. 

"You  ain't  to  make  any  statement  to  me,  John," 
returned  the  sheriff  hastily. 

"Do  you  mean  you  expect  me  to  go  back  to  Mount 
Hope?"  inquired  North  in  a  tone  of  mingled  wonder 
and  exasperation. 

The  sheriff  nodded. 

"That's  the  idea,  John,"  he  said  placidly. 

"What  if  I  refuse  to  go  back?" 

The  sheriff  looked  pained. 

"Oh,  you  won't  do  that — what's  the  use?" 

"Do  you  mean — "  began  North  savagely,  but 
Conklin  interposed. 

"Never  mind  what  I  mean,  that's  a  good  fellow; 
say  you'll  take  the  next  train  back  with  me;  it  will 
save  a  lot  of  bother !" 

"But  I  strongly  object  to  return  to  Mount  Hope!" 
said  North. 

"Be  reasonable — "  urged  the  sheriff. 

"This  is  an  infernal  outrage !"  cried  North. 

"I'm  sorry,  John,  but  make  it  easy  for  me,  make 
it  easy  for  yourself;  we'll  have  a  nice  friendly  trip 
and  you  will  be  back  here  by  the  first  of  the  week." 

For  a  moment  North  hesitated.     He  had  so  many 


THE    FINGER    OF    SUSPICION       141 

excellent  reasons  why  he  did  not  wish  to  return  to 
Mount  Hope,  but  he  knew  that  there  was  something 
back  of  Mr.  Conklin's  mild  eye  and  yet  milder 
speech. 

"Well,  John?"  prompted  the  sheriff  encourag- 
ingly. 

"I  suppose  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  North  grudg- 
ingly. 

"Of  course  you  will,"  agreed  the  sheriff. 

He  had  never  entertained  any  doubts  on  this  point. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  Saturday  morning  when  North 
and  the  sheriff  left  the  east-bound  express  at  Mount 
Hope  and  climbed  into  the  bus  that  was  waiting  for 
them. 

North's  annoyance  had  given  place  to  a  certain 
humorous  appreciation  of  the  situation.  His  plans 
had  gone  far  astray  in  the  past  forty-eight  hours, 
and  here  he  was  back  in  Mount  Hope.  Decidedly 
his  return,  in  the  light  of  his  parting  with  Elizabeth, 
was  somewhat  in  the  nature  of  an  anticlimax. 

They  were  driven  at  once  to  the  court-house. 
There  in  his  office  they  found  Moxlow  with  the  cor- 
oner and  North  was  instantly  aware  of  restraint  in 
the  manner  of  each  as  they  greeted  him,  for  which 
he  could  not  account. 

"Sit  down,  North,"  said  Moxlow,  indicating  a 
chair. 

"Now  what  is  it?"  North  spoke  pleasantly  as  he 
took  his  seat.  "I've  been  cursing  you  two  all  the 
way  home  from  Chicago." 


142      THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"I  am  sorry  you  were  subjected  to  any  annoyance 
in  the  matter,  but  it  couldn't  be  helped,"  said  Mox- 
low. 

"I'm  getting  over  my  temper,"  replied  North. 
"Fire  away  with  your  questions !" 

The  prosecuting  attorney  glanced  at  his  fellow 
official. 

"You  are  already  acquainted  with  the  particulars 
of  the  shocking  tragedy  that  has  occurred  here?" 
said  Taylor  with  ponderous  dignity. 

"Yes,"  said  North  soberly.  "And  when  I  think  of 
it,  I  am  more  than  willing  to  help  you  in  your  search 
for  the  guilty  man." 

"You  knew  of  the  murder  before  you  left  town?" 
remarked  Moxlow  casually. 

"Yes." 

"But  you  weren't  on  the  Square  or  in  the  store 
Thanksgiving  night?"  said  Moxlow. 

"No,  I  dined  with  General  Herbert."  The  prose- 
cuting attorney  elevated  his  eyebrows.  "I  must  have 
been  on  my  way  there  when  the  crime  was  dis- 
covered; I  was  returning  home  perhaps  a  little  after 
eleven  when  I  met  a  man  who  stopped  me  to  tell  me 
of  the  murder — " 

"You  were  with  Mr.  McBride  Thanksgiving  aft- 
ernoon, were  you  not?"  Moxlow  now  asked. 

"Yes." 

"What  was  the  hour,  can  you  state?" 

"About  half  past  four,  I  should  say;  certainly  no 
later  than  that.     I  went  there  on  a  matter  of  busi- 


THE    FINGER    OF    SUSPICION        143 

ness,  to  dispose  of  some  bonds  Mr.  McBride  had 
agreed  to  take  off  my  hands ;  I  was  with  him,  maybe 
twenty  minutes." 

"What  were  those  bonds  ?"     • 

"Local  gas  bonds." 

"How  many  were  there  in  the  lot  you  sold?" 

"Five." 

"He  paid  you  the  money  for  them?" 

"Yes,  a  thousand  dollars." 

"Do  you  know,  we  haven't  unearthed  those  bonds 
yet?"  said  the  doctor. 

Moxlow  frowned  slightly. 

"I  suppose  they  were  taken,"  said  North. 

"But  it  will  be  a  dangerous  thing  to  attempt  to 
realize  on  them,"  snapped  Moxlow. 

"Decidedly,"  agreed  North. 

"You  left  McBride's  store  at,  say,  five  o'clock?" 
said  Moxlow. 

"Not  later  than  that — see  here,  Moxlow,  what  are 
you  driving  at?"  demanded  North,  with  some  show 
of  temper. 

For  an  instant  Moxlow  hesitated,  then  he  said : 

"The  truth  is,  North,  there  is  not  a  clue  to  go  on, 
and  we  are  thrashing  this  thing  over  in  the  hope 
that  we  may  sooner  or  later  hit  on  something  that 
will  be  of  service  to  us." 

"Oh,  all  right,"  said  North,  with  a  return  of  good 
nature. 

"During  your  interview  with  McBride  you  were 
not  interrupted,  no  one  came  into  the  store?" 


144      THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"No  one;  we  were  alone  the  entire  time." 

"And  you  saw  no  one  hanging  about  the  place  as 
you  left  it?" 

"Not  that  I  can  remember;  if  I  did  it  made  no  im- 
pression on  me." 

"But  didn't  you  see  Shrimplin?"  asked  Moxlow 
quickly. 

"Oh,  come,  Moxlow,  you  can't  play  the  sleuth, — 
that  was  afterward,  you  know  it  was !" 

"Afterward—" 

"Yes,  just  as  I  was  starting  for  the  general's 
place,  fully  an  hour  later." 

"In  the  meantime  you  had  been  where — " 

"From  McBride's  store  I  went  to  my  rooms.  I 
remained  there  until  it  was  time  to  start  for  the 
Herberts',  and  as  I  intended  to  walk  out  I  started 
earlier  than  I  otherwise  should  have  done." 

"Then  you  were  coming  from  your  rooms  when 
you  met  Shrimplin  ?" 

"Yes,  it  was  just  six  o'clock  when  I  stopped  to 
speak  to  him." 

"Shrimplin  was  the  only  person  you  met  as  you 
crossed  the  Square?" 

"As  far  as  I  can  remember  now,  I  saw  no  one  but 
Shrimp." 

"And  just  where  did  you  meet  him,  North  ?"  asked 
Moxlow. 

"On  the  corner,  near  McBride's  store." 

"Do  you  know  whether  he  had  just  driven  into 
the  Square  or  not?" 


THE    FINGER   OF    SUSPICION       145 

"No,  I  don't  know  that;  it  was  snowing  hard  and 
I  came  upon  him  suddenly." 

"You  continued  on  your  way  out  of  town  after 
speaking  with  him,  North?" 

"Yes." 

"And  later,  at  eleven  o'clock,  as  you  were  return- 
ing to  town  you  met  a  stranger,  probably  a  country- 
man, you  say,  who  told  you  that  McBride  had  been 
murdered  ?" 

"Yes,  you  have  that  all  straight." 

"On  your  return  to  town  you  went  where?" 

"To  my  rooms  again  and  finished  packing." 

"Did  that  take  you  two  hours?" 

"No,  but  I  had  a  lot  of  things  to  see  to  there." 

"What?"  asked  Moxlow. 

"Oh,  papers  to  destroy,  and  things  of  that  sort 
that  kept  me  pretty  busy  until  train-time." 

"You  walked  to  the  depot?" 

"Yes,  I  was  too  late  for  the  hotel  bus ;  in  fact,  I 
barely  caught  the  train.  I  just  had  time  to  jump 
aboard  as  it  pulled  out." 

"Excuse  me  a  moment,  North !"  said  Moxlow  as 
he  rose  from  his  chair. 

He  quitted  the  room  and  North  heard  him  pass 
down  the  hall. 

"It's  a  bad  business,"  said  Taylor. 

"And  you  haven't  a  suspicion  as  to  the  guilty 
man?" 

"No,  as  Moxlow  says,  we  haven't  a  clue  to  go  on. 
It's  incredible  though,  isn't  it,  that  a  crime  like  that 


146     THE   JUST   AND   THE    UNJUST 

could  have  been  committed  here  almost  in  broad 
daylight,  and  its  perpetrator  get  away  without  leav- 
ing a  trace  behind  ?" 

"It  is  incredible,"  agreed  North,  and  they  lapsed 
into  silence. 

North  thought  of  Elizabeth.  He  would  slip  out  to 
Idle  Hour  that  afternoon  or  evening;  he  couldn't 
leave  Mount  Hope  without  seeing  her.  The  coroner 
drummed  on  his  desk;  he  wondered  what  had  taken 
Moxlow  from  the  room  in  such  haste.  The  prosecut- 
ing attorney's  brisk  step  sounded  in  the  hall  again, 
and  he  reentered  the  room  and  resumed  his  chair. 

"Just  one  or  two  more  questions,  North,  and  then 
I  guess  we'll  have  to  let  you  go,"  he  said.  "You  have 
been  on  very  friendly  terms  with  the  murdered  man 
for  some  time,  have  you  not?" 

"He  was  very  kind  to  me  on  numerous  occasions." 

"In  a  business  way,  perhaps?" 

"Largely  in  a  business  way,  yes." 

"It — pardon  me — usually  had  to  do  with  raising 
money,  had  it  not?" 

North  laughed. 

"It  had." 

"You  were  familiar  with  certain  little  peculiarities 
of  his,  were  you  not,  his  mistrust  of  banks  for  in- 
stance?" 

"Yes,  he  had  very  little  confidence  in  banks,  judg- 
ing from  what  he  said  of  them." 

"Did  he  ever  tell  you  that  he  had  large  sums  of 
money  hidden  away  about  the  store?" 


THE   FINGER   OF    SUSPICION       147 

"Never." 

"But  always  when  you  had  business  dealings  with 
him  he  gave  you  the  ready  money,  very  rarely  a 
check?" 

"Never  in  all  my  experience  a  check,  always  the 
cash." 

"Yet  the  sums  involved  were  usually  consider- 
able?" 

"In  one  or  two  instances  they  reached  a  thousand 
dollars,  if  you  call  that  considerable." 

"And  he  always  had  the  money  on  hand?" 

"Well,  I  can't  quite  say  that;  it  always  involved  a 
preliminary  discussion  of  the  transaction;  I  had  to 
see  him  and  tell  him  what  I  wanted  and  then  go 
again  after  the  money.  It  was  as  if  he  wished  me  to 
think  he  did  not  keep  any  large  sum  about  him  at 
the  store." 

"Did  he  ever,  in  talking  with  you,  express  any  ap- 
prehension of  robbery  or  violence?" 

"No,  never." 

"You  had  spoken  to  him  about  those  bonds  be- 
fore?" 

"Yes,  Monday  I  saw  him  and  asked  him  if  he 
would  take  them  off  my  hands." 

"And  he  gave  you  to  understand  that  if  you  would 
wait  a  day  or  two  he  would  buy  the  bonds." 

North  nodded. 

"Hadn't  you  learned  prior  to  going  to  the  store 
that  McBride  had  just  received  three  thousand  dol- 
lars in  cash  from  Atkinson  ?" 


148     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Yes,  I  knew  that, — Langham  told  me." 

"So  that  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  McBride 
had  at  least  four  thousand  dollars  in  his  safe  Thurs- 
day afternoon." 

"I  suppose  it  is,  but  I  saw  only  the  thousand  he 
paid  me  for  the  bonds." 

"That  came  from  the  safe?" 

"Yes." 

"I  guess  that's  all  for  the  present,  North." 

"Do  you  mean  you  shall  want  to  see  me  again?" 
asked  North,  rising. 

"Yes,  you  won't  leave  town  to-day;  the  inquest 
is  to  be  held  this  afternoon,  you  will  probably  be 
wanted  then,  so  hold  yourself  in  readiness." 

"I  hope  you  will  arrange  to  get  through  with  me 
as  soon  as  possible,  Moxlow !" 

"We  won't  put  you  to  any  unnecessary  inconveni- 
ence if  we  can  help  it,"  returned  Moxlow,  with  a 
queer  cold  smile. 

"Thank  you,"  said  North  and  quitted  the  room. 

He  sauntered  out  into  the  street;  he  was  disposed 
to  consider  Mr.  Moxlow  as  something  of  a  fool,  as  a 
rank  amateur  in  the  present  crisis.  He  turned  into 
the  Square  and  halted  for  an  instant  before  the 
dingy  store  that  had  been  the  scene  of  the  recent 
tragedy.  People  on  the  street  paused  when  they  had 
passed  and  turned  to  stare  after  him,  but  North  was 
unaware  of  this,  as  he  was  unaware  that  his  name 
had  come  to  be  the  one  most  frequently  mentioned 
in  connection  with  the  McBride  murder.    Suddenly 


THE    FINGER    OF    SUSPICION       149 

he  quickened  his  step;  just  ahead  of  him  was  Mar- 
shall Langham. 

"Hello,  Marsh !"  he  said,  and  stepped  eagerly  for- 
ward with  extended  hand. 

The  lawyer  paused  irresolutely  and  turned  on  him 
a  bloated  face,  but  there  was  no  welcome  in  the  sul- 
len glance. 

-Marsh—" 

Langham's  lips  twitched  and  an  angry  murmur 
came  from  them,  but  the  words  were  indistinct. 

"What's  wrong  ?"  asked  North,  falling  back  a  step 
in  astonishment. 

"Yes,  what's  wrong!"  said  Langham  in  a  hoarse 
whisper.  "Hell!  You  have  nerve  to  stick  out  your 
hand  to  me— you  have  bigger  nerve  to  ask  me  that, 
— get  out  of  my  way!"  and  he  pushed  past  North 
and  strode  down  the  street  without  a  single  backward 
glance. 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

JOE   TELLS    HIS   STORY 

THE  inquest  was  held  late  Saturday  afternoon 
in  the  bleak  living-room  of  the  McBride  house. 
The  coroner  had  explained  the  manner  in  which  the 
murdered  man  had  come  to  his  death,  and  as  he  fin- 
ished he  turned  to  Moxlow.  The  prosecuting  attor- 
ney shifted  his  position  slightly,  thrust  out  his  long 
legs  toward  the  wood-stove,  and  buried  his  hands 
deep  in  his  trousers  pockets,  then  he  addressed  the 
jury. 

They  were  there,  he  told  them,  to  listen  to  certain 
facts  that  bore  on  the  death  of  Archibald  McBride. 
If,  after  hearing  these  facts,  they  could  say  they 
pointed  to  any  person  or  persons  as  being  impli- 
cated in  the  murder,  they  were  to  name  the  person 
or  persons,  and  he  would  see  that  they  were  brought 
before  the  grand  jury  for  indictment.  They  were  to 
bear  in  mind,  however,  that  no  one  was  on  trial,  and 
that  no  one  was  accused  of  the  crime  about  to  be  in- 
vestigated, yet  they  must  not  forget  that  a  cold- 
blooded murder  had  been  committed ;  human  hands 
had  raised  the  weapon  that  had  crushed  out  the  life 
of  the  old  merchant,  human  intelligence  had  made 

150 


JOE   TELLS    HIS    STORY  151 

choice  of  the  day  and  hour  and  moment  for  that 
brutal  deed;  the  possibility  of  escape  had  been  nicely 
calculated,  nothing  had  been  left  to  chance.  He 
would  venture  the  assertion  that  if  the  murderer 
were  ever  found  he  would  prove  to  be  no  ordinary 
criminal. 

All  this  Moxlow  said  with  judicial  deliberation 
and  with  the  lawyer's  careful  qualifying  of  word 
and  phrase. 

Shrimplin  was  the  first  witness.  He  described  in 
his  own  fashion  the  finding  of  Archibald  McBride's 
body.  Then  a  few  skilful  questions  by  Moxlow 
brought  out  the  fact  of  his  having  met  John  North 
on  the  Square  immediately  before  his  own  grue- 
some discovery.  The  little  lamplighter  was  excused, 
and  Colonel  Harbison  took  his  place.  He,  in  his 
turn,  quickly  made  way  for  Andy  Gilmore.  Moxlow 
next  interrogated  Atkinson,  Langham's  client,  who 
explained  the  nature  of  his  business  relations  with 
McBride  which  had  terminated  in  the  payment  of 
three  thousand  dollars  to  him  on  Thanksgiving  after- 
noon, the  twenty-seventh  of  November. 

"You  are  excused,  Mr.  Atkinson,"  said  Moxlow. 

For  an  instant  his  eyes  roved  over  the  room ;  they 
settled  on  Marshall  Langham,  who  stood  near  the 
door  leading  into  the  hall.  By  a  gesture  he  motioned 
him  to  the  chair  Atkinson  had  vacated. 

Langham's  testimony  was  identical  with  that 
which  he  had  already  given  in  the  informal  talk  at 
Moxlow's  office ;  he  told  of  having  called  on  Archi- 


152     THE    JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

bald  McBride  with  his  client  and,  urged  on  by  Mox- 
low,  described  his  subsequent  conversation  with 
North. 

Up  to  this  point  John  North  had  felt  only  an  im- 
personal interest  in  the  proceedings,  but  now  it 
flashed  across  him  that  Moxlow  was  seeking  to 
direct  suspicion  toward  him.  How  well  the  prose- 
cuting attorney  was  succeeding  was  apparent.  North 
realized  that  he  had  suddenly  become  the  most  con- 
spicuous person  in  the  room;  whichever  way  he 
turned  he  met  the  curious  gaze  of  his  townsmen,  and 
each  pair  of  eyes  seemed  to  hold  some  porten- 
tous question.  As  if  oblivious  of  this  he  bent  for- 
ward in  his  chair  and  followed  Moxlow's  ques- 
tions and  Langham's  replies  with  the  closest  atten- 
tion. And  as  he  watched  Langham,  so  Gilmore 
watched  him. 

"That  will  do,  Mr.  Langham.  Thank  you,"  said 
Moxlow  at  last. 

North  felt  sure  he  would  be  the  next  witness,  and 
he  was  not  mistaken.  Moxlow's  examination,  how- 
ever, was  along  lines  quite  different  from  those  he 
had  anticipated.  The  prosecuting  attorney's  questions 
wholly  concerned  themselves  with  the  sale  of  the  gas 
bonds  to  McBride;  each  detail  of  that  transaction 
was  gone  into,  but  a  very  positive  sense  of  relief  had 
come  to  North.  This  was  not  what  he  had  expected 
and  dreaded,  and  he  answered  Moxlow's  queries 
frankly,  eagerly,  for  where  his  relations  with  the  old 
merchant  were  under  discussion  he  had  nothing  to 


JOE    TELLS    HIS    STORY  153 

hide.  Finally  Moxlow  turned  from  him  with  a  char- 
acteristic gesture. 

'That's  all,"  he  said. 

Again  his  glance  wandered  over  the  room.  It  be- 
came fixed  on  a  grayish  middle-aged  man  seated  at 
Gilmore's  elbow. 

"Thomas  Nelson,"  he  called. 

This  instantly  revived  North's  apprehensions. 
Nelson  was  the  janitor  of  the  building  in  which  he 
had  roomed.  He  asked  himself  what  could  be  Mox- 
low's  purpose  in  examining  him. 

There  was  just  one  thing  North  feared,  and  that 
— the  bringing  of  Evelyn  Langham's  name  into  the 
case.  How  this  could  happen  he  did  not  see,  but  the 
law  dug  its  own  channels  and  sometimes  they  went 
far  enough  afield.  While  this  was  passing  through 
his  mind,  Nelson  was  sworn  and  Moxlow  began  his 
examination. 

Mr.  Nelson  was  in  charge  of  the  building  on  the 
corner  of  Main  Street  and  the  Square, — he  referred 
to  the  brick  building  on  the  southeast  corner?  The 
witness  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  Moxlow's 
next  question  brought  out  the  fact  that  for  some 
weeks  the  building  had  had  only  two  tenants ;  John 
North  and  Andrew  Gilmore. 

What  was  the  exact  nature  of  his  duties?  The  wit- 
ness could  hardly  say;  he  was  something  of  a  car- 
penter for  one  thing,  and  at  the  present  time  was 
making  certain  repairs  in  the  vacant  store-room  on 
the  ground  floor.    Did  he  take  care  of  the  entrance 


154     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

and  the  two  halls?  Yes.  Had  he  anything  to  do  with 
the  rooms  of  the  two  tenants  on  the  first  floor?  Yes. 
What? 

Sometimes  he  swept  and  dusted  them  and  he  was 
supposed  to  look  after  the  fires.  He  carried  up  the 
coal,  Moxlow  suggested?  Yes.  He  carried  out  the 
ashes?  Again  yes.  Moxlow  paused  for  a  moment. 
Was  he  the  only  person  who  ever  carried  out  the 
ashes?  Yes.  What  did  he  do  with  the  ashes?  He 
emptied  them  into  a  barrel  that  stood  in  the  yard 
back  of  the  building.  And  what  became  of  them 
then?  Whenever  necessary,  the  barrel  was  carted 
away  and  emptied.  How  long  did  it  usually  take  to 
fill  the  barrel?  At  this  season  of  the  year  one  or  two 
weeks.  When  was  it  emptied  last?  A  week  ago,  per- 
haps, the  witness  was  not  quite  sure  about  the  day, 
but  it  was  either  Monday  or  Tuesday  of  the  preced- 
ing week.  And  how  often  did  the  ashes  from  the 
fireplaces  in  Mr.  North's  and  Mr.  Gilmore's  rooms 
find  their  way  into  the  barrel?  Every  morning  he 
cleaned  out  the  grates  the  first  thing,  and  usually 
before  Mr.  North  or  Mr.  Gilmore  were  up. 

Again  Moxlow  paused  and  glanced  over  the  room. 
He  must  have  been  aware  that  to  his  eager  audience 
the  connection  between  Mr.  North's  and  Mr.  Gil- 
more's fireplaces  and  the  McBride  murder,  was  any- 
thing but  clear. 

"Did  you  empty  the  ashes  from  the  fireplaces  in 
the  apartments  occupied  by  Mr.  North  and  Mr.  Gil- 
more  on  Friday  morning?"  he  asked. 


JOE   TELLS   HIS    STORY  155 

"Yes;  that  is,  I  took  up  the  ashes  in  Mr.  North's 
rooms." 

"But  not  in  Mr.  Gilmore's?" 

"No,  sir,  I  didn't  go  into  his  rooms  Friday  morn- 
ing." 

"Why  was  that, — was  there  any  reason  for  it?" 

"Yes,  I  knew  that  Mr.  Gilmore's  rooms  had  not 
been  occupied  Thursday  night;  that  was  the  night 
of  the  murder,  and  he  was  at  McBride's  house,"  ex- 
plained the  witness. 

"But  you  emptied  the  grate  in  Mr.  North's 
rooms  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  disposed  of  the  ashes  in  the  usual  way?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"In  the  barrel  in  the  yard  back  of  the  building?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Did  you  notice  anything  peculiar  about  the  ashes 
from  Mr.  North's  rooms  on  Friday  morning?" 

The  witness  looked  puzzled. 

"Hadn't  Mr.  North  burnt  a  good  many  papers  in 
his  grate?" 

"Oh,  yes,  but  then  he  was  going  away." 

"That  will  do, — you  are  excused,"  interposed 
Moxlow  quickly. 

The  sheriff  was  next  sworn.  Without  interrup- 
tion from  Moxlow  he  told  his  story.  He  had  made 
a  thorough  search  of  the  ash  barrel  described  by  the 
witness  Thomas  Nelson,  and  had  come  upon  a  num- 
ber of  charred  fragments  of  paper. 


156     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

"We  think  these  may  be  of  interest  to  the  coro- 
ner's jury,"  said  Moxlow  quietly. 

He  drew  a  small  pasteboard  box  from  an  inner 
pocket  of  his  coat  and  carefully  arranged  its  con- 
tents on  the  table  before  him.  In  all  there  were  half 
a  dozen  scraps  of  charred  or  torn  paper  displayed; 
one  or  two  of  these  fragments  were  bits  of  envelopes 
on  which  either  a  part  or  all  of  the  name  was  still  de- 
cipherable. North,  from  where  he  sat,  was  able  to 
recognize  a  number  of  these  as  letters  which  he  had 
intended  to  destroy  that  last  night  in  his  rooms ;  but 
the  refuse  from  his  grate  and  the  McBride  murder 
still  seemed  poles  apart ;  he  could  imagine  no  possible 
connection. 

The  president  of  Mount  Hope's  first  national  bank 
was  the  next  witness  called.  He  was  asked  by  Mox- 
low to  examine  a  Mount  Hope  Gas  Company  bond, 
and  then  the  prosecuting  attorney  placed  in  his 
hands  a  triangular  piece  of  paper  which  he  selected 
from  among  the  other  fragments  on  the  table. 

"Mr.  Harden,  will  you  kindly  tell  the  jury  of 
what,  in  your  opinion,  that  bit  of  paper  in  your  hand 
was  once  a  part?"  said  Moxlow. 

Very  deliberately  the  banker  put  on  his  glasses, 
and  then  with  equal  deliberation  began  a  careful  ex- 
amination of  the  scrap  of  paper. 

"Well?"  said  Moxlow. 

"A  second,  please  !"  said  the  banker. 

But  the  seconds  grew  into  minutes  before  He  was 
ready  to  risk  an  opinion. 


JOE   TELLS    HIS    STORY  157 

"We  are  waiting  on  you,  Mr.  Harden,"  said  Mox- 
low  at  length. 

"I  should  say  that  this  is  a  marginal  fragment  of 
a  Gas  Company  bond,"  said  the  banker  slowly.  "In- 
deed there  can  be  no  doubt  on  the  point.  The  paper 
is  the  same,  and  these  lines  in  red  ink  are  a  part  of 
the  decoration  that  surrounds  the  printed  matter. 
No, — there  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind  as  to  what  this 
paper  is." 

"What  part  of  the  bond  is  it?"  asked  Moxlow. 

"The  lower  right-hand  corner,"  replied  the  banker 
promptly.  "That  is  why  I  hesitated  to  identify  it; 
with  this  much  of  the  upper  left-hand  corner  for  in- 
stance, I  should  not  have  been  in  doubt." 

"Excused,"  said  Moxlow  briefly. 

The  room  became  blank  before  John  North's  eyes 
as  he  realized  that  a  chain  of  circumstantial  evidence 
was  connecting  him  with  the  McBride  murder.  He 
glanced  about  at  a  score  of  men — witnesses,  officials, 
and  jury,  and  felt  their  sudden  doubt  of  him,  as  in- 
tangibly but  as  certainly  as  he  felt  the  dead  presence 
just  beyond  the  closed  door. 

"We  have  one  other  witness,"  said  Moxlow. 

And  Joe  Montgomery,  seeming  to  understand  that 
he  was  this  witness,  promptly  quitted  his  chair  at 
the  back  of  the  room  and,  cap  in  hand,  slouched  for- 
ward and  was  duly  sworn  by  the  coroner. 

If  Mr.  Montgomery  had  shown  promptness  he  had 
also  evinced  uneasiness,  since  his  fear  of  the  law  was 
as  rock-ribbed  as  his  respect  for  it.    He  was  not  un- 


158     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

familiar  with  courts,  though  never  before  had  he 
appeared  in  the  character  of  a  witness;  and  he 
had  told  himself  many  times  that  day  that  the  busi- 
ness in  which  he  had  allowed  Mr.  Gilmore  to  in- 
volve him  carried  him  far  behind  his  depths.  Now 
his  small  blue  eyes  slid  round  in  their  sockets  some- 
what fearfully  until  they  rested  on  Mr.  Gilmore, 
who  had  just  taken  up  his  position  at  Marshall 
Langham's  elbow.  The  gambler  frowned  and  the 
handy-man  instantly  shifted  his  gaze.  But  the 
prosecuting  attorney's  first  questions  served  to  give 
Joe  a  measure  of  ease;  this  was  transitory,  how- 
ever, as  he  seemed  to  stand  alone  in  the  presence  of 
some  imminent  personal  danger  when  Moxlow 
asked : 

"Where  were  you  on  the  night  of  the  twenty-sev- 
enth of  November  at  six  o'clock  ?" 

Joe  stole  a  haunted  glance  in  the  direction  of  Gil- 
more.    Moxlow  repeated  his  question. 

"Boss,  I  was  in  White's  woodshed,"  answered 
Montgomery. 

"Tell  the  jury  what  you  saw,"  said  Moxlow. 

"Well,  I  seen  a  good  deal,"  evaded  the  handy- 
man, shaking  his  great  head. 

"Go  on!"  urged  Moxlow  impatiently. 

"It  was  this  way,"  said  Joe.  "I  was  lookin'  out 
into  the  alley  through  a  crack  in  the  small  door 
where  they  put  in  the  coal ;  right  across  the  alley  is 
the  back  of  McBride's  store  and  the  sheds  about  his 


JOE    TELLS    HIS    STORY  159 

I 

yard — "  the  handy-man  paused  and  mopped  Tils  face 
with  his  ragged  cap. 

At  the  opposite  end  of  the  room  Gilmore  placed  a 
hand  on  Langham's  arm.  The  lawyer  had  uttered 
a  smothered  exclamation  and  had  made  a  movement 
as  if  about  to  quit  his  seat.  The  gambler  pushed  him 
back. 

"Sit  tight,  Marsh  !"  he  muttered  between  his  teeth. 

Mr.  Montgomery,  taking  stock  of  his  courage,  pre- 
pared to  adventure  further  with  his  testimony. 

"All  at  once  as  I  stood  by  that  door  lookin'  out 
into  the  alley,  I  heard  a  kind  of  noise  in  old  man 
McBride's  yard.  It  sounded  like  something  heavy 
was  bein'  scraped  across  the  frozen  ground,  say  a 
box  or  barrel.  Then  I  seen  a  man's  derby  hat  come 
over  the  edge  of  the  shed,  and  next  the  man  who  was 
under  that  hat  drawed  himself  up;  he  come  up  slow 
and  cautious  until  he  was  where  he  could  throw  him- 
self over  on  to  the  roof.  He  done  that,  squatted  low, 
and  slid  down  the  roof  toward  the  alley.  There  was 
some  snow  and  he  slid  easy.  He  was  lookin'  about 
all  the  time  like  he  wasn't  anxious  to  be  seen.  Well, 
boss,  he  never  seen  me,  and  he  never  seen  no  one  else, 
so  he  dropped  off,  kind  of  givin'  himself  a  shove  out 
from  the  eaves,  and  fetched  up  against  White's 
woodshed.  He  was  pantin'  like  he'd  run  a  mile,  and 
I  heard  him  say  in  a  whisper,  'Oh,  my  God!' — just 
like  that, — 'Oh,  my  God !'  "  The  handy-man  paused 
with  this  grotesque  mimicry  of  terror. 


160     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"And  then?"  prompted  Moxlow,  in  the  breathless 
silence. 

"And  then  he  took  off  up  the  alley  as  if  all  hell 
was  whoopin'  after  him !" 

Again  Montgomery's  ragged  cap  served  him  in 
lieu  of  a  handkerchief,  and  as  he  swabbed  his 
blotched  and  purple  face  he  shot  a  swift  furtive 
glance  in  Gilmore's  direction.  So  far  he  had  told 
only  the  truth,  but  he  was  living  in  terror  of  Mox- 
low's  next  question. 

"Can  you  describe  the  man  who  crossed  the  roof, 
— for  instance,  how  was  he  dressed  ?"  said  Moxlow, 
with  slow  deliberation. 

"He  had  on  a  derby  hat  and  a  dark  overcoat,"  an- 
swered Montgomery  after  a  moment's  pause. 

He  was  speaking  for  Gilmore  now,  and  his  grimy 
fists  closed  convulsively  about  the  arms  of  his  chair. 

"Did  you  see  his  face?"  asked  Moxlow. 

"Yes — "  the  monosyllable  was  spoken  unwillingly, 
but  with  a  kind  of  dogged  resolution. 

"Was  it  a  face  you  knew?' 

Montgomery  looked  at  Gilmore,  whose  fierce  in- 
sistent glance  was  bent  compellingly  on  him.  The 
recollection  of  the  gambler's  threats  and  promises 
flashed  through  his  mind. 

"Was  it  a  face  you  knew?"  repeated  Moxlow. 

The  handy-man  gave  him  a  sudden  glare. 

"Yes,"  he  said  in  a  throaty  whisper. 

"How  could  you  tell  in  the  dark?" 

"It  wasn't  so  terrible  dark,  with  the  snow  on  the 


Then  1   seen  a  man's  derby  hat  come  over  the  edge  of  the  shed. 


t    8  ®  •         <      e « 


'  ,>-'"'.    '     ' 


JOE    TELLS    HIS    STORY  161 

ground.  And  I  was  so  close  to  him  I  could  have  put 
an  apple  in  his  pocket,"  Joe  explained. 

"Who  was  the  man?"  asked  Moxlow. 

"I  thought  he  looked  like  John  North,"  said 
Montgomery. 

There  was  the  silence  of  death  in  the  room. 

"You  thought  it  was  John  North?"  began  Mox- 
low. 

"Yes." 

"When  he  spoke,  you  thought  you  recognized 
North's  voice?" 

"Yes." 

"Were  you  sure?" 

"I  was  pretty  sure,  boss — " 

"Only  pretty  sure?" 

"I  thought  it  was  Mr.  North, — it  looked  like  Mr. 
North,  and  I  thought  it  was  him, — I  thought  so  then 
and  I  think  so  now,"  said  Montgomery  desperately. 

"Are  you  willing  to  swear  positively  that  it  was 
John  North?"  demanded  Moxlow. 

"No — "  said  the  handy-man,  "No, — I  only  say  I 
thought  it  was  John  North.  He  looked  like  John 
North,  and  I  thought  it  was  John  North, — I'd  have 
said  it  was  John  North,  but  it  all  happened  in  a  min- 
ute. I  wasn't  thinkin'  I'd  ever  have  to  say  who  it 
was  I  seen  on  the  shed !" 

"But  your  first  distinct  impression  was  that  it  was 
John  North?" 

"Yes." 

"You  have  known  John  North  for  years?" 


1 62     THE   JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"All  his  life." 

"Had  you  seen  him  recently?'' 

"I  seen  him  Thanksgiving  day  along  about  four 
o'clock  crossing  the  Square." 

"How  was  he  dressed,  did  you  notice?" 

"He  was  dressed  like  the  man  in  the  alley, — he 
had  on  a  black  derby  hat  and  a  dark  brown  over- 
coat." 

"That's  all,"  said  Moxlow  quietly. 

The  coroner  and  the  jury  drew  aside  and  began  a 
whispered  consultation.  In  the  vitiated  atmosphere 
of  that  overcrowded  room,  heavy  as  it  was  with  the 
stifling  heat  and  palpably  dense  with  the  escaping 
smoke  from  the  cracked  wood-stove,  men  coughed 
nervously  with  every  breath  they  drew,  but  their 
sense  of  physical  discomfort  was  unheeded  in  their 
tense  interest  in  the  developments  of  the  last  few 
moments.  The  jury's  deliberation  was  brief  and 
then  the  coroner  announced  its  verdict. 

North  heard  the  doctor's  halting  words  without  at 
once  grasping  their  meaning.  A  long  moment  of 
silence  followed,  and  then  a  man  coughed,  and  then 
another,  and  another;  this  seemed  to  break  the  spell, 
for  suddenly  the  room  buzzed  with  eager  whisper- 
ings. 

North's  first  definite  emotion  was  one  of  intense 
astonishment.  Were  they  mad  ?  But  the  faces  turned 
toward  him  expressed  nothing  beyond  curiosity. 
His  glance  shifted  to  the  official  group  by  the  table. 
These  good-natured  commonplace  men  who,  whether 


JOE    TELLS    HIS    STORY  163 

they  liked  him  or  not,  had  invariably  had  a  pleasant 
word  for  him,  instantly  took  on  an  air  of  grim 
aloofness.  Conklin,  the  fat  jolly  sheriff;  the 
coroner;  Moxlow,  the  prosecuting  attorney  in  his 
baggy  trousers  and  seam-shining  coat, — why,  he  had 
known  these  men  all  his  life,  he  had  met  them 
daily, — what  did  they  mean  by  suspecting  him ! 
The  mere  suspicion  was  a  monstrous  wrong!  His 
face  reddened ;  he  glanced  about  him  haughtily. 

Now  at  a  sign  from  the  coroner,  Conklin  placed 
his  fat  hands  on  the  arms  of  his  chair  and  slowly 
drew  himself  out  of  its  depths,  then  he  crossed  to 
North.  The  young  fellow  rose,  and  turned  a  pale 
face  toward  him. 

"John,"  said  the  sheriff  gently,  "I  have  an  un- 
pleasant duty  to  perform/' 

In  spite  of  himself  the  pallor  deepened  on  North's 
face. 

"I  understand,"  he  said  in  a  voice  that  was  low 
and  none  too  steady. 

During  this  scene  Moxlow's  glance  had  been 
centered  on  North  in  a  fixed  stare  of  impersonal 
curiosity,  now  he  turned  with  quick  nervous  de- 
cision and  snatching  up  his  shabby  hat  from  the  ta- 
ble, left  the  room. 

Langham  had  preceded  him  by  a  few  moments, 
escaping  unobserved  when  there  were  eyes  only  for 
North. 

"I  am  ready,  Conklin." 

And  a  moment  later  North  and  the  sheriff  passed 


1 64     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

out  into  the  twilight.  Neither  spoke  until  they  came 
to  the  court-house  Square. 

"We'll  go  in  this  way,  John  I"  said  the  sheriff 
in  a  tone  that  was  meant  to  be  encouraging,  but 
failed. 

They  ascended  the  court-house  steps,  and  went 
down  the  long  corridor  to  the  rear  of  the  building. 
Here  they  passed  out  through  wide  doors  and  into 
a  narrow  yard  that  separated  the  court-house  from 
the  jail.  Crossing  this  sandy  strip  they  entered  the 
sheriff's  office.  Conklin  paused;  North  gazed  at 
him  inquiringly. 

"It's  too  bad,  John,"  said  the  sheriff. 

Then  without  further  words  he  led  North  to  a 
door  opposite  that  by  which  they  had  entered.  It 
opened  on  a  long  brick-paved  passageway,  at  the 
end  of  which  was  a  flight  of  narrow  stairs.  Ascend- 
ing these  North  found  himself  in  another  long  hall. 
Conklin  paused  before  the  first  of  three  doors  on  the 
right  and  pushed  it  open. 

"I  guess  this  will  do,  John !"  he  said. 

North  stepped  quickly  in  and  glanced  about  him. 
The  room  held  an  iron  bedstead,  a  wooden  chair 
and,  by  the  window  which  overlooked  the  jail 
yard  and  an  alley  beyond,  a  wash-stand  with  a  tin 
basin  and  pitcher. 

"Say,  ain't  you  going  to  see  a  lawyer?"  asked  the 
sheriff.  "He  may  be  able  to  get  you  out  of  this,  you 
can't  tell— " 


JOE    TELLS    HIS    STORY  165 

"Can  you  send  a  message  to  young  Watt  Harbison 
for  me?"  interrupted  North. 

"Certainly,  but  you  don't  call  him  much  of  a  law- 
yer, do  you  ?  I  tell  you,  John,  you  want  a  good  law- 
yer; what's  the  matter  with  Marsh  Langham?" 

"Watt  will  do  for  the  present.  He  can  tell  me  the 
one  or  two  things  I  need  to  know  now,"  rejoined 
North  indifferently. 

"All  right,  I'll  send  for  him  then." 

The  sheriff  quitted  the  room,  closing  and  locking 
the  door  after  him.  North  heard  his  footsteps  die 
out  in  the  long  passage.  At  last  he  was  alone !  He 
threw  himself  down  on  the  cot  for  manhood  seemed 
to  forsake  him. 

"My  God, — Elizabeth — "  he  groaned  and  buried 
his  face  in  his  hands. 

The  law  had  lifted  a  sinister  finger  and  leveled 
it  at  him. 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

LIGHT  IN  DARKNESS 

THE  expression  on  General  Herbert's  face  was 
one  of  mingled  doubt  and  impatience. 

"You  must  be  mistaken,  Thompson !"  he  was  say- 
ing to  his  foreman,  who  had,  with  the  coming  of 
night,  returned  from  an  errand  in  town. 

"General,  there's  no  mistake;  every  one  was  talk- 
ing about  it !  Looks  like  the  police  had  something 
to  go  on,  too — " 

He  hesitated,  suddenly  remembering  that  John 
North  had  been  a  frequent  guest  at  Idle  Hour. 

"I  had  heard  that  Mr.  North  was  wanted  as  a  wit- 
ness/' observed  the  general. 

"No,  they  say  Moxlow  had  his  eye  on  him  from 
the  start!"  rejoined  the  foreman  with  repressed  en- 
thusiasm for  Moxlow. 

The  general  sensed  the  enthusiasm  and  was  af- 
fected unpleasantly  by  it. 

"It  would  be  a  great  pity  if  Mr.  Moxlow  should 
be  so  unfortunate  as  to  make  a  fool  of  himself!"  he 
commented  with  unusual  acidity.  "What  else  did 
you  hear?" 

"Not  much,  General,  only  just  what  I've  told  you 
1 66 


LIGHT    IN    DARKNESS  167 

— that  they've  arrested  North,  and  that  young  Watt 
Harbison's  been  trying  to  get  him  out  on  bail,  but 
they've  refused  to  accept  bond  in  his  case.  Don't 
that  look  like  they  thought  the  evidence  was  pretty 
strong  against  him — " 

"Well,  they  might  have  arrested  you  or  me,"  said 
the  general.     "That  signifies  nothing." 

He  moved  off  in  the  direction  of  the  house,  and 
Thompson,  after  a  backward  glance  at  his  retreating 
figure,  entered  the  barn.  Out  of  sight  of  his  fore- 
man, the  general's  sturdy  pace  lagged.  That  young 
man  had  been  at  Idle  Hour  entirely  too  often;  he 
had  thought  so  all  along,  and  now  he  was  very  sure 
of  it! 

"This  comes  of  being  too  kind,"  he  muttered. 

Then  he  paused  suddenly — but  no,  that  was  ab- 
surd— utterly  absurd;  Elizabeth  would  have  told 
him!  He  was  certain  of  this,  for  had  she  not  told 
him  all  her  secrets?  But  suppose — suppose — and 
again  he  put  the  idea  from  him. 

He  found  Elizabeth  in  the  small,  daintily  fur- 
nished sitting-room  which  Mrs.  Herbert  had  called 
her  "boudoir",  and  seated  himself,  none  too  gently, 
in  a  fragile  gilt  chair  which  his  bulk  of  bone  and 
muscle  threatened  to  wreck.  Elizabeth  glanced  up 
from  Their  Wedding  Journey,  which  she  was  read- 
ing for  the  second  time. 

"What  is  it,  father?"  she  asked,  for  his  feeling 
of  doubt  and  annoyance  was  plainly  shown  in  his 
expressive  face. 


1 68     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Thompson  has  just  come  out  from  town — he  says 
that  John  North  has  been  arrested  for  the  McBride 
murder — " 

The  book  slipped  from  Elizabeth's  hand  and  fell 
to  the  floor;  the  smile  with  which  she  had  welcomed 
her  father  faded  from  her  lips;  she  gazed  at  him 
with  pale  face  and  wide  eyes.  The  general  instantly 
regretted  that  he  had  spoken  with  such  cruel  abrupt- 
ness. 

"You  don't  think  it  is  true?"  she  asked  in  a 
whisper. 

"Thompson  seemed  to  know  what  he  was  talking 
about." 

"It's  monstrous!"  she  cried. 

"If  North  is  innocent — "  began  the  general. 

"Father!"  She  regarded  him  with  a  look  of 
horror  and  astonishment.  "You  don't  like  him! 
It's  that,  isn't  it?"  she  added  after  a  moment's 
silence. 

"I  don't  like  any  one  who  gets  into  a  scrape  such 
as  this !"  replied  the  general  with  miserable  and  un- 
necessary heat. 

"But  it  wasn't  his  fault — he  couldn't  help  it!" 

"I  don't  suppose  he  could,"  replied  her  father 
grimly. 

She  rose  and  came  close  to  his  side. 

"Father !"  she  said  in  a  tone  of  entreaty,  placing 
a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"What  is  it,  dear?" 

There  was  both   tenderness   and   concern   in   his 


LIGHT    IN    DARKNESS  169 

keen  gray  eyes  as  he  glanced  up  into  her  troubled 
face. 

"I  want  you  to  go  to  him — to  Mr.  North,  I  mean. 
I  want  you  to  tell  him  how  sorry  you  are;  I  want 
him  to  know — I — "  she  paused  uncertainly. 

Perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was  not 
quite  sure  of  her  father's  sympathy.  She  dreaded 
his  man's  judgment  in  this  crisis. 

"Now  seriously,  Elizabeth,  don't  you  think  I'd 
better  keep  away  from  him  ?    I  can  do  nothing — " 

"Oh,  how  cowardly  that  would  be!"  she  cried. 
"How  cowardly !" 

The  old  general  winced  at  this.  He  was  far  from 
being  a  coward,  but  appearances  had  their  value  in 
his  eyes ;  and  even,  in  its  least  serious  aspect,  young 
North's  predicament  was  not  pleasant  to  contemplate. 

"But  there  is  nothing  I  can  do,  Elizabeth;  why 
should  I  become  involved?"  he  urged. 

"Then  you  must  go  to  him  from  me!"  she  cried. 

"Child — child;  what  are  you  saying!"  cried  the 
general. 

"Either  you  must  go  to  him,  or  I  shall  go !"  she 
said  with  fine  firmness. 

Her  father  groaned. 

"Be  frank  with  me,  Elizabeth.  Has  North  ever 
told  you  that  he  cared  for  you?" 

"Yes." 

"When?" 

"Before  he  went  away — I  mean  that  last  night  he 
was  here." 


170     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"I  feared  as  much !"  he  muttered.  "And  you, 
dear?"  he  continued  gently. 

"He  said  we  might  have  to  wait  a  long  time — or 
I  should  have  told  you !  He  went  away  because  he 
was  too  poor — " 

There  was  a  pause. 

"Do  you  care  for  him,  Elizabeth?"  her  father 
asked  at  length.  "Do  you  wish  me  to  understand 
that  you  are  committed — are — " 

"Yes,"  she  answered  quite  simply. 

"You  are  sure  it  is  not  just  pity — you  are  sure, 
Elizabeth?  For  you  know,  right  or  wrong,  he 
will  probably  come  out  of  this  with  his  reputation 
smirched." 

"But  he  is  innocent!" 

"That  is  not  quite  the  point!"  urged  the  general. 
"We  must  see  things  as  they  are.  You  must  under- 
stand what  it  may  mean  to  you  in  the  future,  to  have 
given  your  love  to  a  man  who  has  fallen  under  such 
suspicion.  There  will  always  be  those  who  will  re- 
member this  against  him." 

"But  /  shall  know !"  she  said  proudly. 

"And  that  will  be  enough — you  will  ask  no  more 
than  that,  Elizabeth?" 

"If  my  faith  in  him  has  never  been  shaken,  could 
I  ask  more?" 

He  looked  at  her  wistfully.  Her  courage  he  com- 
prehended. It  was  fine  and  true,  like  her  sweet 
unspoiled  youth ;  in  its  presence  he  felt  a  sudden 
sense  of  age  and  loneliness.     He  asked  himself,  had 


LIGHT    IN    DARKNESS  171 

he  lived  beyond  his  own  period  of  generous  enthusi- 


asm r 


<<■ 


'It  would  be  a  poor  kind  of  friendship,  a  poorer 
kind  of  love,  if  we  did  not  let  him  know  at  once 
that  this  has  not  changed  our — our  regard  for  him !" 
she  said  softly. 

"It  is  not  your  ready  sympathy;  you  are  quite  cer- 
tain it  is  not  that,  Elizabeth  ?" 

"I  am  sure,  father — sure  of  myself  as  I  am  of 
him !  You  say  he  has  been  arrested,  does  that 
mean — "  and  she  hesitated. 

"It  means,  my  dear,  that  he  is  in  jail,"  answered 
the  general  as  he  came  slowly  to  his  feet. 

She  gave  a  little  cry,  and  running  to  him  hid  her 
face  against  his  arm. 

"In  jail !"  she  moaned,  and  her  imagination  and 
her  ignorance  clothed  the  thought  with  indescribable 
horrors. 

"Understand,  dear,  he  isn't  even  indicted  yet  and 
he  may  not  be!  It's  bad  enough,  of  course,  but  it 
might  be  a  great  deal  worse.  Now  what  am  I  to 
tell  him  for  you?" 

"Wait,"  she  said,  slipping  from  his  side.  "I  will 
write  him — " 

"Write  your  letter  then,"  said  her  father.  "I'll 
order  the  horses  at  once,"  he  added,  as  he  quitted  the 
room. 

Ten  minutes  later  when  he  drove  up  from  the 
stables,  Elizabeth  met  him  at  the  door. 

"After  you  have  seen  him,  father,  come  home  at 


172      THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

once,  won't  you?"  she  said  as  she  handed  him  her 
letter. 

"Yes,  I  am  only  going  for  this,"  he  replied. 

It  was  plain  that  his  errand  had  not  grown  less 
distasteful  to  him.  Perhaps  Elizabeth  was  aware 
of  this,  for  she  reached  up  and  passed  an  arm  about 
his  neck. 

"I  don't  believe  any  girl  ever  had  such  a  father!" 
she  whispered  softly. 

"I  suppose  I  should  not  be  susceptible  to  such 
manifest  flattery,"  said  the  general,  kissing  her,  "but 
I  find  I  am !  There,  you  keep  up  your  courage ! 
This  old  father  of  yours  is  a  person  of  such  excellent 
sense  that  he  is  going  to  aid  and  abet  you  in  this 
most  outrageous  folly;  I  expect,  even,  that  in  time, 
my  interest  in  this  very  foolish  young  man  will  be 
only  second  to  your  own,  my  dear!" 

As  he  drove  away  he  turned  in  his  seat  to  glance 
back  at  the  graceful  girlish  figure  standing  in  the 
shelter  of  Idle  Hour's  stone  arched  vestibule,  and 
as  he  did  so  there  was  a  flutter  of  something  white, 
which  assured  him  that  her  keen  eyes  were  follow- 
ing him  and  would  follow  him  until  the  distance 
and  the  closing  darkness  intervened,  and  hid  him 
from  her  sight. 

"I  hope  it  will  come  out  all  right!"  he  told  himself 
and  sighed. 

If  it  did  not  come  out  all  right,  where  was  his 
peace  of  mind;  where  was  the  calm,  where  the  long 
reposeful  days  he  had  so  valued?    But  this  thought 


LIGHT    IN    DARKNESS  173 

he  put  from  him  as  unworthy.  After  all  Elizabeth's 
happiness  was  something  he  desired  infinitely  more 
than  he  desired  his  own.  But  why  could  it  not  have 
been  some  one  else?  Why  was  it  North;  what  un- 
kind fate  had  been  busy  there? 

"She  sees  more  in  him  than  I  could  ever  see!"  he 
said  aloud,  as  he  touched  his  horse  with  the  whip. 

Twenty  minutes  later  he  drove  up  before  the 
court-house,  hitched  and  blanketed  his  horse,  and 
passing  around  the  building,  now  dark  and  deserted, 
reached  the  entrance  to  the  jail.  In  the  office  he 
found  Conklin  at  his  desk.  The  sheriff  was  rather 
laboriously  engaged  in  making  the  entry  in  his 
ledger  of  North's  committal  to  his  charge,  a  formal- 
ity which,  out  of  consideration  for  his  prisoner's  feel- 
ings, he  had  dispensed  with  at  the  time  of  the  arrest. 

"I  wish  to  see  Mr.  North.  I  suppose  I  may?" 
his  visitor  said,  after  he  had  shaken  hands  with 
Conklin. 

''Certainly,  General!  Want  to  go  up,  or  shall  I 
bring  him  down  here  to  you?" 

"I'd  prefer  that — I'd  much  prefer  that!"  an- 
swered the  general  hastily. 

He  felt  that  it  would  be  something  to  tell  Eliza- 
beth that  the  interview  had  taken  place  in  the  sher- 
iff's office. 

"All  right,  just  as  you  say;  have  a  chair."  And 
Conklin  left  the  room. 

The  general  glanced  about  him  dubiously.  Had 
it  not  been  for  his  deep  love  for  Elizabeth  he  could 


174     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

have  wished  himself  anywhere  else  and  charged  with 
any  other  mission.  He  dropped  heavily  into  a  chair. 
North's  arrest,  and  the  results  of  that  arrest  as  he 
now  saw  them  in  that  cheerless  atmosphere,  loomed 
large  before  his  mind's  eye.  He  reflected  that  a  trial 
for  murder  was  a  horrible  and  soul-racking  experi- 
ence. He  devoutly  and  prayerfully  hoped  that  it 
would  not  come  to  this  in  North's  case. 

His  meditation  was  broken  in  on  by  the  sound  of 
echoing  steps  in  the  brick-paved  passageway,  and 
then  North  and  Conklin  entered  the  room.  On  their 
entrance  the  general  quitted  his  chair  and  advanced 
to  meet  the  young  fellow,  whose  hand  he  took  in 
silence.  The  sheriff  glanced  from  one  to  the  other; 
and  understanding  that  there  might  be  something 
intimate  and  personal  in  their  relation,  he  said : 

"I'll  just  step  back  into  the  building,  General; 
when  you  and  Mr.  North  have  finished  your  talk, 
you  can  call  me." 

"Thank  you !"  said  General  Herbert,  and  Conklin 
withdrew,  leaving  the  two  alone. 

There  was  an  awkward  pause  as  they  faced  each 
other.     The  older  man  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"I  regret  this !"  he  said  at  length. 

"Not  more  than  I  do !"  rejoined  North,  with  a 
fleeting  sense  of  humor. 

He  wondered  what  it  was  that  had  brought  Eliza- 
beth's father  there. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Moxlow,  anyhow?"  the 
general  demanded. 


LIGHT    IN    DARKNESS  175 

He  glanced  sharply  into  North's  face.  He  saw 
that  the  young  fellow  was  rather  pale,  but  otherwise 
his  appearance  was  unchanged. 

''All  the  evidence  seems  to  point  my  way,"  said 
North,  and  added  a  trifle  nervously :  "I  don't  under- 
stand it — it  isn't  clear  to  me  by  any  means !  It  came 
so  suddenly,  and  I  was  totally  unprepared  to  meet 
the  situation.  I  had  talked  to  Moxlow  in  the  morn- 
ing, but  he  had  let  drop  nothing  that  led  me  to  sup- 
pose I  was  under  suspicion.  Of  course  I  am  not 
afraid.  I  know  that  it  will  come  out  all  right  in  the 
end—" 

"Do  you  want  anything,  North?  Is  there  any- 
thing I  can  do  for  you?"  asked  General  Herbert  al- 
most roughly. 

"Thank  you,  but  apparently  there  is  nothing  that 
any  one  can  do  just  now,"  said  North  quietly. 

The  color  was  creeping  back  into  his  face. 

"Well,  we  can't  sit  idle!  Look  here,  you  tried 
for  bail,  I  understand?" 

"Yes,  but  it  has  been  refused." 

"Do  you  know  when  the  grand  jury  sits?" 

"Next  week.  Of  course  my  hope  is  that  it  won't 
go  beyond  that;  I  don't  see  how  it  can!" 

"Why  didn't  you  send  for  me  at  once?"  asked 
the  older  man  with  increasing  bruskness.  He  took  a 
turn  about  the  room.  "What  does  it  all  mean? 
What  do  you  know  about  McBride's  death?"  he  con- 
tinued, halting  suddenly. 

"Absolutely  nothing,"  said  North. 


176     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

And  for  an  instant  the  two  men  looked  straight 
into  each  other's  eyes. 

"You  are  sure  you  don't  need  anything — money, 
for  instance?"  the  general  asked,  shifting  his  glance. 

"I  am  quite  sure,  but  I  am  very  grateful  to  you 
all  the  same — " 

"Of  course  the  evidence  against  you  is  purely  cir- 
cumstantial?" 

"I  believe  so — yes,"  answered  North.  "But  there 
are  points  I  don't  understand." 

"I  am  coming  in  to-morrow  morning  to  see  you, 
and  talk  the  whole  thing  over  with  you,  North." 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  to  talk  matters  over  with 
you,  General,"  said  North. 

"I  wish  I  could  do  something  for  you  to-night!" 
the  general  said  with  real  feeling,  for  he  realized  the 
long  evening,  and  the  longer  night  that  were  before 
the  young  fellow. 

There  was  a  pause.  The  general  could  not  bring 
himself  to  speak  of  Elizabeth,  and  North  lacked  the 
courage  to  ask  concerning  her. 

"I  heard  through  one  of  my  men  of  your  arrest. 
He  brought  word  of  it  to  the  farm,"  the  farmer  said 
at  length. 

"Miss  Herbert  knows — of  course  you  told  her — " 

"Yes,  North ;  yes,  she  knows !"  her  father  replied. 
"She  knows  and  she  urged  me  to  come!" 

He  saw  North's  face  light  up  with  a  sudden  look 
of  joy. 

"She  urged  you  to  come?"  repeated  North. 


LIGHT    IN    DARKNESS  177 

"Yes — I  think  she  would  have  come  herself  if 
I  had  not  been  willing." 

"I  am  glad  she  did  not !"  said  North  quickly. 

"Of  course!  I  told  her  it  would  only  distress 
you." 

"It  would  only  distress  her — which  is  all  that  is 
worth  considering,"  rejoined  North. 

"That's  so !"  said  the  general,  approaching  the 
young  man  and  resting  a  brown  and  muscular  hand 
on  his  shoulder.    . 

"She  has  told  you?"  asked  North. 

The  older  man  nodded. 

"Yes,  she's  told  me,"  he  said  briefly. 

"I  can't  ask  if  it  was  pleasant  news  at  this  time," 
said  North.  "What  do  you  wish  me  to  do?"  he 
continued.  "She  must  forget  what  was  said  that 
night,  and  I,  too,  will  endeavor  to  forget — tell  her 
that."     He  passed  a  shaking  hand  before  his  face. 

"I've  a  note  here  for  you,  North — "  General 
Herbert  was  fumbling  in  his  pocket —  "from  Eliza- 
beth.    Don't  you  be  too  quick  to  decide!" 

"With  your  permission,"  said  North  as  he  took  the 
letter. 

He  tore  it  open,  and  Elizabeth's  father,  watching 
him,  saw  the  expression  of  his  face  change  utterly, 
as  the  lines  of  tense  repression  faded  from  it.  It 
was  clear  that  for  the  moment  all  else  was  lost 
in  his  feeling  of  great  and  compelling  happiness. 
Twice  he  read  the  letter  before  he  could  bring  him- 
self to  replace  it  in  its  envelope.     As  he  did  so,  he 


178      THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

caught  the  general's  eyes  fixed  on  him.  For  a 
moment  he  hesitated,  then  he  said  with  the  frank- 
ness that  was  habitual  to  him : 

"I  think  you  should  know  just  what  that  letter 
means  to  me.  It  is  brave  and  steadfast — just  as  she 
is;  no,  you  were  right,   I   can't  decide — I   won't!" 

"I  wouldn't,"  said  the  general.  There  was  a  pause 
and  then  he  added,  "After  all,  it  is  not  given  to 
every  woman  to  show  just  how  deep  her  faith  is  in 
the  man  she  loves.  It  would  be  too  bad  if  you  could 
not  know  that !" 

"The  situation  may  become  intolerable,  General 
Herbert!  Suppose  I  am  held  for  the  murder — sup- 
pose a  long  trial  follows ;  think  what  she  will  suffer, 
the  uncertainty,  the  awful  doubt  of  the  outcome,  al- 
though she  knows, — she  must  know  I  am  innocent." 

"Of  course,  of  course!"  cried  the  general  hastily, 
for  these  were  points  he  did  not  wish  to  discuss. 

"It's  a  serious  matter  when  you  consider  the  possi- 
bility of  an  indictment,"  said  North  soberly  enough. 

"That's  true;  yet  we  mustn't  count  the  cost  now, 
or  at  any  future  time.  But  I  promised  Elizabeth  I'd 
come  back  at  once.    What  shall  I  say  to  her,  North  ?" 

"Tell  her  that  her  letter  has  changed  the  whole 
aspect  of  things  for  me.  You  must  try  to  make 
her  feel  the  fresh  hope  she  has  given  me,"  John  re- 
plied, extending  his  hand. 

"Conklin !"  called  the  general.  He  took  North's 
hand.  "Good  night;  I'm  infinitely  sorry  to  leave 
you  here,  North,  but  I  suppose  it  can't  be  helped — " 


LIGHT    IN    DARKNESS  179 

The  sheriff  entered  the  room  while  he  was  yet 
speaking. 

"Finished  your  chat,  General?"  he  asked. 

".Yes,  thank  you,  Conklin.  Good  night  Good 
night,  North, "  and  Elizabeth's  father  hurried  from 
the  room. 

For  a  moment  North  stood  silent,  staring  absently 
at  the  door  that  had  just  closed  on  the  general's 
burly  figure.  He  still  held  Elizabeth's  letter  in  his 
hand.  In  fancy  he  was  seeing  her  as  she  had  bent 
above  it,  her  face  tender,  compassionate;  and  then 
there  rose  the  vision  of  that  crowded  room  with 
its  palpable  atmosphere,  its  score  of  curious 
faces  all  turned  toward  him  in  eager  expectation. 
In  the  midst  of  these  unworthy  surroundings,  her 
face,  beautiful  and  high  bred,  eluded  him ;  the  like- 
ness, even  as  he  saw  it,  was  lost,  nor  could  he  call  it 
back. 

Slowly  but  certainly  that  day's  experience  was 
fixing  itself  unalterably  in  his  memory.  He  caught 
the  pungent  reek  from  the  wood-stove,  and  mingling 
with  it  the  odor  of  strong  cheap  tobacco  filled  his 
nostrils  again;  he  was  left  with  the  very  dregs  of 
sordid  shameful  things. 

The  sheriff  touched  him  on  the  arm. 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

THE  GAMBLER'S   THEORY 

GILMORE,  leaving  his  apartment,  paused  to 
light  a  cigar,  then  sauntered  down  the  steps 
and  into  the  street.  As  he  did  so  he  saw  Marshall 
Langham  come  from  the  post-office,  half  a  block 
distant,  and  hurry  across  the  Square.  Gilmore 
strode  after  him. 

"Oh,  say,  Marsh,  I  want  to  see  you!"  he  called 
when  he  had  sufficiently  reduced  the  distance  that 
separated  him  from  his  friend. 

Instantly  Langham  paused,  turning  a  not  too 
friendly  face  toward  the  gambler. 

"You  want  to  see  me?"  he  asked. 

"Didn't  I  say  so?"  demanded  Gilmore,  as  he 
gained  a  place  at  his  side.  "Where  are  you  going, 
to  the  office?" 

"Yes,  I  have  some  letters  to  answer,"  and  Lang- 
ham quickened  his  pace. 

Gilmore  kept  his  place  at  the  lawyer's  elbow.  For 
a  moment  there  was  silence  between  them,  and  then 
Gilmore  said: 

"You  got  away  from  McBride's  in  a  hurry  Satur- 
day; why  didn't  you  wait  and  see  the  finish?" 

Langham  made  no  answer  to  this,  and  Gilmore, 
1 80 


THE    GAMBLER'S    THEORY  181 

after  another  brief  silence,  turned  on  him  with  an 
unexpected  question : 

"How  would  you  like  to  be  in  North's  shoes, 
Marsh  ?"  As  he  spoke,  the  gambler  rested  a  hand  on 
Langham's  shoulder.  He  felt  him  shrink  from  the 
physical  contact.  "Gives  you  a  chill  just  to  think 
of  it,  doesn't  it?"  he  said.  "I  suppose  Moxlow  be- 
lieves there's  the  making  of  a  pretty  strong  case 
against  him;  eh,  Marsh?" 

"I  don't  know;  I  can't  tell  what  he  thinks,"  said 
Langham  briefly. 

"But  in  North's  place,  back  there  in  the  jail  in 
one  of  those  brand-new  iron  cages  over  the  yard, 
how  would  you  feel?    That's  what  I  want  to  know !" 

Langham  met  his  glance  for  an  instant  and  then 
his  eyes  fell.  He  sensed  the  insinuation  that  was 
back  of  Gilmore's  words. 

"Can't  you  put  yourself  in  his  place,  with  the  evi- 
dence, such  as  it  is,  all  setting  against  you?" 

"I'm  due  at  the  office,"  said  the  lawyer  suddenly. 

Gilmore  took  his  arm. 

"If  North  didn't  kill  McBride,  who  did?"  he  per- 
sisted. 

"Why  do  you  ask  me  such  questions?"  demanded 
Langham  resentfully. 

"My  lord — can't  we  consider  the  matter?"  asked 
the  gambler  laughing. 

"What's  the  use?  Here,  I've  got  to  go  to  the 
office,  Andy — "  and  he  sought  to  release  himself, 
but  Gilmore  retained  his  hold. 


182      THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"I  suppose  you  are  going  to  see  North?"  he  asked. 

Langham  came  to  a  sudden  stop. 

"What's  that?"  he  asked  hoarsely. 

"You  have  been  his  intimate  for  years;  surely 
you  are  too  good  a  friend  to  turn  your  back  on  him 
now!" 

"If  he  wants  me,  he'll  send  for  me !"  muttered 
Langham. 

"Do  you  mean  you  aren't  going  to  him,  Marsh  ?" 
asked  the  gambler  with  well  simulated  astonishment. 

"He  knows  where  I'm  to  be  found,"  said  Lang- 
ham, striding  forward  again,  "and,  damn  it,  this  is 
no  concern  of  yours !" 

"Well,  by  thunder!"  ejaculated  Gilmore. 

"I  don't  need  any  points  from  you,  Andy!"  said 
Langham,  with  a  sullen  sidelong  glance  at  his  com- 
panion. 

They  had  crossed  the  Square,  and  Langham  now 
halted  at  the  curb. 

"Good-by,  Andy!"  he  said,  and  shook  himself 
free  of  the  other's  detaining  hand. 

"Hold  on  a  minute,  Marsh!"  objected  Gilmore. 

"Well,  what  is  it,  can't  you  see  I  am  in  a  hurry?" 

"Oh,  nothing  here,  Marsh — "  and  striding  for- 
ward, Gilmore  disappeared  in  the  building  before 
which  they  had  paused. 

For  an  instant  Langham  hesitated,  and  then  he 
followed  the  gambler. 

A  step  or  two  in  advance  of  him,  Gilmore 
mounted  the  stairs,  and  passing  down  the  hall  en- 


THE    GAMBLER'S    THEORY  183 

tered  Langham's  office.  Langham  followed  him 
into  the  room;  he  closed  the  door,  and  without  a 
glance  at  Gilmore  removed  his  hat  and  overcoat  and 
hung  them  up  on  a  nail  back  of  the  door;  the  gam- 
bler meanwhile  had  drawn  an  easy  chair  toward  the 
open  grate  at  the  far  end  of  the  room,  before  which 
he  now  established  himself  with  apparent  satisfac- 
tion. 

"I  suppose  the  finding  of  the  coroner's  jury 
doesn't  amount  to  much,"  he  presently  said  but  with- 
out looking  in  Langham's  direction. 

The  lawyer  did  not  answer  him.  He  crossed  to 
his  desk  which  filled  the  space  between  the  two  win- 
dows overlooking  the  Square. 

''You're  damn  social !"  snarled  Gilmore  over  his 
shoulder. 

"I  told  you  I  was  busy,"  said  Langham,  and  he 
began  to  finger  the  papers  on  his  desk. 

Gilmore  swung  around  in  his  chair  and  faced  him. 

"So  you  won't  see  him — North,  I  mean?"  he 
queried.  "Well,  you're  a  hell  of  a  friend,  Marsh. 
You've  been  as  thick  as  thieves,  and  now  when  he's 
up  against  it  good  and  hard,  you're  the  first  man  to 
turn  your  back  on  him!" 

Seating  himself,  Langham  took  up  his  pen  and 
began  to  write.  Gilmore  watched  him  in  silence  for 
a  moment,  a  smile  of  lazy  tolerance  on  his  lips. 

"Suppose  North  is  acquitted,  Marsh;  suppose 
the  grand  jury  doesn't  hold  him,"  he  said  at  length; 
"will  the  search  for  the  murderer  go  on?" 


1 84     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

The  pen  slipped  from  Langham's  fingers  to  the 
desk. 

"Look  here,  I  don't  want  to  discuss  North  or  his 
affairs  with  you.  It's  nothing  to  me;  can't  you  get 
that  through  your  head?" 

"As  his  friend — "  began  Gilmore. 

"Get  rid  of  that  notion,  too !" 

"That's  what  I  wanted  to  hear  you  say,  Marsh ! 
So  you're  not  his  friend?" 

"No !"  exclaimed  Langham  briefly,  and  his  shak- 
ing fingers  searched  among  the  papers  on  his  desk 
for  the  pen  he  had  just  dropped. 

"So  you're  not  his  friend  any  more?"  repeated 
Gilmore  slowly.  "Well,  I  expect  when  a  fellow  gets 
hauled  up  for  murder  it's  asking  a  good  deal  of  his 
friends  to  stand  by  him !  Do  you  know,  Marsh,  I'm 
getting  an  increased  respect  for  the  law;  it  puts  the 
delinquents  to  such  a  hell  of  a  lot  of  trouble.  It's 
a  good  thing  to  let  alone!  I'm  thinking  mighty 
seriously  of  cutting  out  the  games  up  at  my  rooms; 
what  would  you  think  of  my  turning  respectable, 
Marsh?  Would  you  be  among  the  first  to  extend 
the  warm  right  hand  of  fellowship?" 

"Oh,  you  are  respectable  enough,  Andy !"  said 
Langham. 

He  seemed  vastly  relieved  at  the  turn  the  conver- 
sation had  taken.  He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
thrust  his  hands  in  his  trousers  pockets. 

"Say,  why  can't  I  put  myself  where  I  want  to  be? 
What's  the  matter  with  my  style,  anyhow?     It's  as 


THE    GAMBLER'S    THEORY  185 

good  as  yours  any  day,  Marsh ;  and  no  one  ever  saw 
me  drunk — that  is  a  whole  lot  more  than  can  be  said 
of  you;  and  yet  you  stand  in  with  the  best  people, 
you  go  to  houses  where  I'd  be  thrown  out  if  I  as 
much  as  stuck  my  nose  inside  the  door !" 

"Your  style's  all  right,  Andy!"  Langham  has- 
tened to  assure  him. 

"Well,  it's  as  good  as  yours  any  day!" 

"Better!"  said  Langham,  laughing. 

"Well,  what's  the  matter  with  it,  then?"  persisted 
Gilmore. 

"There's  a  good  deal  of  it  sometimes,  it's  rather 
oppressive — "  said  the  lawyer. 

"I'll  fix  that,"  said  Gilmore  shortly. 

"I  would  if  I  wanted  what  you  seem  to  think  you 
want,"  replied  Langham  chuckling. 

"Marsh,  I'm  dead  serious;  I'm  sick  of  being  out- 
side all  the  good  things.  I  know  plenty  of  respect- 
able fellows,  fellows  like  you;  but  I  want  to  know 
respectable  women ;  why  can't  I  ?" 

"If  you  hanker  for  it,  you  can;  it's  up  to  you, 
Andy,"  said  Langham. 

The  gambler  appeared  very  ingenuous  in  this  new 
role  of  his. 

"Look  here,  Marsh,  I've  never  asked  anything  of 
you,  and  you  must  admit  that  I've  done  you  one  or 
two  good  turns ;  now  I'm  going  to  ask  a  favor  of  you 
and  I  don't  expect  to  be  refused;  fact  is,  I  ain't  go- 
ing to  take  a  refusal — " 

"What  is  it,  Andy?"  asked  Langham  cautiously. 


186     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"I  want  you  to  introduce  me  to  your  wife." 

"The  hell  you  do!"  ejaculated  Langham, 

The  gambler's  brow  darkened. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  he  demanded 
angrily. 

"Nothing,  I  was  only  thinking  of  Mrs.  Langham's 
probable  attitude  in  the  matter,  that  was  all." 

"You  mean  you  think  she  won't  want  to  meet 
me?"  and  in  spite  of  himself  Gilmore's  voice 
sounded  strained  and  unnatural. 

"I'm  sure  she  won't,"  said  Langham  with  cruel 
candor. 

"Well,"  observed  Gilmore  coolly,  "I'm  going  to 
put  my  case  in  your  hands,  Marsh ;  you  come  to  my 
rooms,  you  drink  my  whisky,  and  smoke  my  cigars 
and  borrow  my  money;  now  I'm  going  to  make  a 
new  deal  with  you.  I'm  going  to  know  your  wife.  I 
like  her  style — she  and  I'll  get  on  fine  together,  once 
we  know  each  other.  You  make  it  plain  to  her  that 
I'm  your  friend,  your  best  friend,  about  your  only 
friend !" 

"You  fool — "  began  Langham. 

Gilmore  quitted  his  chair  at  a  bound  and  strode  to 
Langham's  side. 

"None  of  that,  Marsh !"  he  protested  sternly,  plac- 
ing a  heavy  hand  on  Langham's  shoulder.  "I  see  we 
got  to  understand  each  other,  you  and  me!  You 
don't  take  hints ;  I  have  to  bang  it  into  you  with  a 
club  or  you  don't  see  what  I'm  driving  at — " 

"I've  paid  you  all   I  owe  you,   Gilmore!"  said 


THE    GAMBLER'S    THEORY  187 

Langham  conclusively.  "You  can't  hold  that  over 
me  any  longer." 

"I  don't  want  to !"  retorted  Gilmore  quietly. 

"You  kept  your  thumb  on  me  good  and  hard 
while  you  could !" 

"Not  half  so  hard  as  I  am  going  to  if  you  try  to 
get  away  from  me  now — " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  these  threats?"  cried 
Langham. 

The  gambler  laughed  in  his  face. 

"You've  paid  me  all  you  owe  me,  but  I  want  to 
ask  you  just  one  question.  Where  did  you  get  the 
money?" 

"That,"  said  Langham,  steadying  himself  by  a 
mighty  effort,  "is  none  of  your  business !" 

"Think  not?"  and  again  Gilmore  laughed,  but 
before  his  eyes,  fierce,  compelling,  Langham's 
glance  wavered  and  fell. 

"I  got  the  money  from  my  father,"  he  muttered 
huskily. 

"You're  a  liar!"  said  the  gambler.  "I  know 
where  you  got  that  money,  and  you  know  I 
know."  There  was  a  long  pause,  and  then  Gilmore 
jerked  out: 

"But  don't  you  worry  about  that.  In  your  own 
fashion  you  have  been  my  friend,  and  it's  dead 
against  my  creed  to  go  back  on  a  friend  unless  he 
tries  to  throw  me  down ;  so  don't  you  make  the  mis- 
take of  doing  that,  or  I'll  spoil  your  luck!  You 
think  you  got  North  where  you  want  him ;  don't  you 


188     THE    JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

be  too  sure  of  that!  There's  one  person,  just  one, 
who  can  clear  him,  at  least  there's  only  one  who  is 
likely  to  try,  and  I'll  tell  you  who  it  is — it's  your 
wife — "  For  an  instant  Langham  thought  Gilmore 
had  taken  leave  of  his  senses,  but  the  gambler's  next 
question  filled  him  with  vague  terror. 

"Where  was  she  late  that  afternoon,  do  you 
know?" 

"What  afternoon?"  asked  Langham. 

Gilmore  gave  him  a  contemptuous  glance. 

"Thanksgiving  afternoon,  the  afternoon  of  the 
murder,"  he  snapped. 

"She  was  at  my  father's,  she  dined  there,"  said 
Langham  slowly. 

"That  may  be  true  enough,  but  she  didn't  get 
there  until  after  six  o'clock — I'll  bet  you  what  you 
like  on  that,  and  I'll  bet  you,  too,  that  I  know  where 
she  was  from  five  to  six.  Do  you  take  me  up  ?  No  ? 
Of  course  you  don't!  Well,  I'll  tell  you  all  the 
same.    She  was  in  North's  rooms — " 

"You  lie,  damn  you !"  cried  Langham,  spring- 
ing to  his  feet.  He  made  an  ineffectual  effort 
to  seize  Gilmore  by  the  throat,  but  the  gambler 
thrust  him  aside  with  apparent  ease. 

"Don't  try  that  or  you'll  get  the  worst  of  it, 
Marsh ;  you've  been  soaking  up  too  much  whisky  to 
be  any  good  at  that  game  with  me!"  said  Gilmore. 

His  manner  was  cool  and  determined.  He  took 
Langham  roughly^by  the  shoulders  and  threw  him 
back  in  his  chair.    The  lawyer's  face  was  ghastly  in 


She    was    in    North's    rooms- 


THE    GAMBLER'S    THEORY  189 

the  gray  light  that  streamed  in  through  the  win- 
dows, but  he  had  lost  his  sense  of  personal  fear  in 
another  and  deeper  and  less  selfish  emotion.  Yet 
he  realized  the  gambler's  power  over  him,  the  power 
of  a  perfect  and  absolute  knowledge  of  his  most 
secret  and  hidden  concerns. 

Gilmore  surveyed  him  with  a  glance  of  quiet 
scorn. 

"It  was  about  half  past  five  when  she  turned  up  at 
North's  rooms.  He  had  just  come  up  the  stairs 
ahead  of  her;  I  imagine  he  knew  she  was  coming. 
I  guess  I  could  tell  you  a  few  things  you  don't  know ! 
All  during  the  summer  and  fall  they've  been  meet- 
ing on  the  quiet — "  he  laughed  insolently.  "Oh, 
you  have  been  all  kinds  of  a  fool,  Marsh ;  I 
guess  you've  got  on  to  the  fact  at  last.  And 
I  don't  wonder  you  are  anxious  to  see  North  hang, 
and  that  you  won't  go  near  him;  I'd  kill  him  if  I 
stood  in  your  place.  But  maybe  we  can  fix  it  so  the 
law  will  do  that  job  for  you.  It  seems  to  have  the 
whip-hand  with  him  just  now.  Well,  he  was  the 
whole  thing  with  your  wife  when  she  went  away 
this  fall  and  then  he  began  to  take  up  with  the 
general's  girl — sort  of  to  keep  his  hand  in,  I  sup- 
pose— the  damn  fool !  For  she  ain't  a  patch  on  your 
wife.  I  guess  Mrs.  Langham  had  been  tipped  off  to 
this  new  deal — that's  what  brought  her  back  to 
Mount  Hope  in  such  a  hurry,  and  she  went  to  his 
rooms  to  have  it  out  with  him  and  learn  just  where 
she  stood.     I  was  in  my  bedroom  and  I  could  hear 


190     THE    JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

them  talking  through  the  partition.  It  wasn't 
peaches  and  cream,  for  she  was  rowing  all  right!" 

"It's  a  lie !"  cried  Langham,  and  he  strove  to  rise 
to  his  feet,  but  Gilmore's  strong  hand  kept  him  in 
his  chair. 

"No,  I  don't  lie,  Marsh,  you  ought  to  know  that 
by  this  time;  but  there's  just  one  point  you  want  to 
get  through  your  head;  with  your  wife's  help  North 
can  prove  an  alibi.  He  won't  want  to  compromise 
her,  or  himself  with  the  Herbert  girl,  for  that  mat- 
ter; but  how  long  do  you  think  he's  going  to  keep 
his  mouth  shut  with  the  gallows  staring  him  in  the 
face?  I'm  willing  to  go  as  far  in  this  matter  as  the 
next,  but  you  got  to  do  your  part  and  pay  the  price, 
or  I'll  throw  you  down  so  hard  you'll  never  get  over 
the  jar!"  His  heavy  jaws  protruded.  "Now,  I've  a 
notion  I  want  to  know  your  wife.  I  like  her  style. 
I  guess  you  can  trust  her  with  me — you  ain't  afraid 
of  that,  are  you?" 

"Take  your  hands  off  me !"  cried  Langham,  strug- 
gling fiercely. 

He  tore  at  the  gambler's  wrists,  but  Gilmore  only 
laughed  his  tantalizing  laugh. 

"Oh,  come,  Marsh,  let's  get  back  to  the  main 
point.  If  North's  indicted  and  your  wife's  sum- 
moned as  a  witness,  she's  got  to  chip  in  with  us,  she's 
got  to  deny  that  she  was  in  his  room  that  day — you 
got  to  see  to  that,  I  can't  do  everything — " 

"On  your  word — " 

"Well,  you  needn't  quote  me  to  her— it  wouldn't 


THE    GAMBLER'S    THEORY  191 

help  my  standing  with  her — but  ask  her  where  she 
was  between  half  past  five  and  six  the  day  of  the 
murder;  and  mind  this,  you  must  make  her  under- 
stand she's  got  to  keep  still  no  matter  what  happens ! 
Put  aside  the  notion  that  North  won't  summon  her; 
wait  until  he  is  really  in  danger  and  then  see  how 
quick  he  squeals !" 

"She  may  have  gone  to  his  rooms,"  said  Langham 
chokingly,  "but  that  doesn't  prove  anything 
wrong — " 

"Oh,  come,  Marsh,  you  ain't  fool  enough  to  feel 
that  way  about  it — " 

"Let  me  up,  Gilmore!" 

"No,  1"  won't;  I'm  trying  to  make  you  see  things 
straight  for  your  own  good.  What's  the  matter, 
anyhow;  don't  you  and  your  wife  get  on?" 

Langham's  face  was  purple  with  rage  and  shame, 
while  his  eyes  burned  with  a  murderous  hate.  Rude 
hands  had  uncovered  his  hidden  sore;  yet  ruder 
speech  was  making  mock  of  the  disgraceful  secret. 
It  was  of  his  wife  that  this  coarse  bully  was  speak- 
ing !  That  what  he  said  was  probably  true — Evelyn 
herself  had  admitted  much — did  not  in  the  least 
ease  the  blow  that  had  crushed  his  pride  and 
self-respect.  He  lay  back  in  his  chair,  limp  and 
panting  under  Gilmore's  strong  hands.  Where  was 
his  own  strength  of  heart  and  arm  that  he  should  be 
left  powerless  in  this  moment  of  unspeakable  degra- 
dation? 

"It  behooves  you  to  do  something  more  than  soak 


192     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

up  whisky,"  said  the  gambler.  "You  must  find  out 
what  took  your  wife  to  North's  rooms,  and  you  must 
make  her  keep  quiet  no  matter  what  happens.  If 
you  go  about  it  right  it  ought  to  be  easy,  for  they 
had  some  sort  of  a  row  and  he's  mixed  up  with  the 
Herbert  girl ;  you  got  that  to  go  on.  Now,  the  ques- 
tion is,  is  she  mad  enough  to  see  him  go  to  the  peni- 
tentiary or  hang  without  opening  her  mouth  to  save 
him?  Come,  you  should  know  something  about  her 
by  this  time;  I  would,  if  I  had  been  married  to  her 
as  long  as  you  have." 

Suddenly  he  released  Langham  and  fell  back  a 
step.  The  lawyer  staggered  to  his  feet,  adjusting 
his  collar  and  cravat  which  Gilmore's  grasp  on  his 
throat  had  disarranged.  He  glanced  about  him  with 
a  vague  notion  of  obtaining  some  weapon  that  would 
put  him  on  an  equality  with  his  more  powerful  an- 
tagonist, but  nothing  offered,  and  he  took  a  step 
toward  the  door. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Marsh,"  said  the  gambler  coldly. 
"I'm  going  to  change  my  tactics  with  you.  I'm  not 
going  to  wear  myself  out  keeping  your  nose  pointed 
in  the  right  direction;  you  must  do  something  for 
yourself,  you  drunken  fool!" 

Langham  took  another  step  toward  the  door, 
but  his  eyes — the  starting  bloodshot  eyes  of  a 
hunted  animal — still  searched  the  room  for  some 
weapon.  Except  for  the  heavy  iron  poker  by 
the  grate,  there  was  nothing  that  would  serve  his 
purpose,  and  he  must  pass  the  gambler  to  reach  that. 


THE    GAMBLER'S   THEORY  193 

Still  fumbling  with  his  collar  he  paused  irresolutely, 
midway  of  the  room.  Pride  and  self-respect  would 
have  taken  him  from  the  place  but  hate  and  fear 
kept  him  there. 

Gilmore  threw  himself  down  in  a  chair  before 
the  fire  and  lit  a  cigar.  In  spite  of  himself  Langham 
watched  him,  fascinated.  There  was  such  conscious 
power  and  mastery  in  everything  the  gambler  did, 
that  he  felt  the  various  purposes  that  were  influenc- 
ing him  collapse  with  miserable  futility.  What  was 
the  use  of  struggling? 

"You  can  do  as  you  blame  please  in  this  matter, 
Marsh,"  said  the  gambler  at  length.  "I  haven't 
meant  to  offend  you  or  insult  you,  but  if  you  want 
to  see  it  that  way — all  right,  it  suits  me.  You  needn't 
look  about  you,  for  you  won't  find  any  sledges  here; 
you  ought  to  know  that." 

"What  do  you  mean — "  asked  Langham  in  a 
whisper. 

"Draw  up  a  chair  and  sit  down,  Marsh,  and  we'll 
thrash  this  thing  out  if  it  takes  all  night.  Here, 
have  a  cigar!"  for  Langham  had  drawn  forward  a 
chair.  With  trembling  fingers  he  took  the  cigar  the 
gambler  handed  him.  "Now  light  up,"  said  Gilmore. 
He  watched  Langham  strike  a  match,  watched 
his  shaking  hands  as  he  brought  its  flame  to  the 
cigar's  end.  "That's  better,"  he  said  as  the  first 
puff  of  smoke  left  Langham's  colorless  lips.  "So 
you  think  you  want  to  know  what  I  mean,  eh  ?  Well, 
I'm  going  to  take  you  into  my  confidence,  Marsh', 


i94     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

and  just  remember  you  can't  possibly  reach  the 
poker  without  having  me  on  top  of  you  before  you 
get  to  it!  You  were  pretty  sober  for  you  the 
afternoon  of  the  murder,  not  more  than  half 
shot,  we'll  say,  but  later  on  when  you  hunted  me  up 
at  the  McBride  house,  you  were  as  drunk  as  you  will 
ever  be,  and  slobbering  all  sorts  of  foolishness !" 

He  puffed  his  cigar  in  silence  for  a  moment. 
Langham's  had  gone  out  and  he  was  nervously 
chewing  the  end  of  it 

"What  did  I  say?"  he  asked  at  length. 

"Oh,  all  sorts  of  damn  nonsense.  You're  smart 
enough  sober,  but  get  you  drunk  and  you  ain't  fit  to 
be  at  large!" 

"What  did  I  say?"  repeated  Langham. 

"Better  let  me  forget  that,"  rejoined  Gilmore  sig- 
nificantly. "And  look  here,  Marsh,  I  was  sweating 
blood  Saturday  when  they  had  Nelson  on  the  stand, 
but  it's  clear  he  had  no  suspicion  that  my  rooms  were 
occupied  on  the  night  of  the  murder.  You  were  blue 
about  the  gills  while  Moxlow  was  questioning  him, 
and  I  don't  wonder;  as  I  tell  you,  I  wasn't  comfort- 
able myself,  for  I  knew  well  enough  how  that  bit  of 
burnt  bond  got  into  the  ash  barrel — " 

"Hush !  For  God's  sake — "  whispered  Langham 
in  uncontrollable  terror. 

Gilmore  laughed. 

"My  lord,  man,  you  got  to  keep  your  nerve! 
Look  here,  Mount  Hope  ain't  going  to  talk  of  any- 
thing but  the  McBride  murder;  you  are  going  to 


THE    GAMBLER'S    THEORY  195 

hear  it  from  morning  to  night,  and  that's  one  of  the 
reasons  you  got  to  keep  sober.  You've  done  your 
best  so  far  to  queer  yourself,  and  unless  you  listen 
to  reason  you  may  do  it  yet." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean — "  said  Langham. 

"Don't  you,  Marsh?  Well,  I  got  just  one  more 
surprise  in  store  for  you,  but  I'll  keep  it  to  myself 
a  while  longer  before  I  spring  it  on  you." 

He  was  thinking  of  Joe  Montgomery's  story ;  if 
Langham  did  not  prove  readily  tractable,  that 
should  be  the  final  weapon  with  which  he  would  beat 
him  into  submission.     Presently  he  said : 

"I've  all  along  had  my  own  theory  about  old  man 
McBride's  murder,  and  now  I'm  going  to  see  what 
you  think  of  it,  Marsh." 

An  icy  hand  seemed  to  be  clutching  Langham's 
heart.  Gilmore's  cruel  smiling  eyes  noted  his  suf- 
fering.   He  laughed. 

"Of  course,  I  don't  think  North  killed  Mc- 
Bride,  not  for  one  minute  I  don't;  in  fact,  it's  a 
dead  moral  certainty  he  didn't!"  He  leaned  for- 
ward in  his  chair  and  looked  into  his  companion's 
eyes.  For  an  instant  Langham  met  his  glance  with- 
out flinching  and  then  his  eyes  shifted  and  sought 
the  floor.  "I'll  bet,"  said  Gilmore's  cool  voice,  "I'll 
bet  you  what  you  like  I  could  put  my  hand  on  the 
man  who  did  the  murder!"  and  as  he  spoke  he 
reached  out  and  by  an  apparently  accidental  gesture, 
rested  his  hand  on  Langham's  shoulder.  "You 
wouldn't  like  to  risk  any  money  on  that  little  bet,  eh, 


196     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

Marsh  ?"  He  sank  back  in  his  chair  and  applied  him- 
self to  his  cigar  in  silence,  but  his  eyes  never  left 
Langham's  face. 

Presently  he  took  the  cigar  from  between  his 
strong  even  teeth.  "Now,  I'm  going  to  give  you 
my  theory/'  he  said.  "I  want  to  see  what  you 
think  of  it — but  remember  always,  I  believe  in 
letting  well  enough  alone!  They  got  North  caged 
in  one  of  those  nice  new  cells  down  at  the  jail  and 
that  suits  me  all  right!  My  theory  is  that  the  man 
who  killed  McBride  was  needing  money  mighty 
badly  and  he  went  to  McBride  as  a  sort 
of  a  last  chance.  He  found  the  old  fellow  alone 
in  the  office — understand,  he  didn't  go  there  with 
any  fixed  purpose  of  killing  him,  his  ideas  had  not 
carried  him  that  far — he  was  willing  to  borrow  the 
money  if  the  old  man  would  lend  it  to  him. 
He  probably  needed  quite  a  sum,  say  two  or  three 
thousand  dollars,  and  the  need  was  urgent,  you  must 
keep  that  in  mind  and  then  you'll  see  perfectly  how  it 
all  happened.  Possibly  my  man  was  of  the  sort  who 
don't  fancy  disagreeable  interviews  and  had  put 
off  going  to  the  store  until  the  last  moment,  but  once 
he  had  settled  that  point  with  himself  he  was  deter- 
mined he  wouldn't  come  away  without  the  money. 
The  old  fellow,  however,  took  a  different  view  of  the 
situation;  he  couldn't  see  why  he  should  lend  any 
money,  especially  when  the  borrower  was  vague  on 
the  matter  of  security. 

"Well,     I     guess    they    talked     quite     a     while 


THE    GAMBLER'S    THEORY  197 

there  at  the  back  of  the  store,  McBride  standing  in 
the  doorway  of  the  office  all  the  time.  At  last  it 
got  to  my  man  that  he  wasn't  to  have  the 
money.  But  there  was  trouble  ahead  of  him 
if  he  didn't  get  it  and  he  wouldn't  give  up;  he 
kept  on  making  promises — urging  his  need — and  his 
willingness  and  ability  to  meet  his  obligations.  He 
was  like  a  starving  man  in  the  presence  of  food,  for 
he  knew  McBride  had  the  money  in  his  safe  and  the 
safe  door  was  open.  His  need  seemed  the  only  need 
in  all  the  world,  and  it  came  to  him  that  since  Mc- 
Bride would  not  lend  him  the  money  he  wanted, 
why  not  take  it  from  him  anyhow?  He  couldn't  see 
consequences,  he  could  only  realize  that  he  must 
have  two  or  three  thousand  dollars!  Perhaps  he 
got  a  glimmer  of  reason  just  here,  and  if  he  did  he 
was  pretty  badly  frightened  to  think  that  he  should 
even  consider  violence;  he  turned  away  to  leave  Mc- 
Bride and  the  old  man  followed  him  a  ways  down 
the  store,  explaining  why  they  couldn't  do  business." 

Gilmore  paused.  His  cigar  had  gone  out;  now  he 
struck  a  match,  but  he  did  not  take  his  eyes  from 
Langham's  face.  He  did  not  speak  at  once  even 
when  his  cigar  was  lighted. 

Great  beads  of  perspiration  stood  thick  on  Lang- 
ham's  brow,  his  hair  was  damp  and  clammy. 
He  was  living  that  unspeakable  moment  over 
again,  with  all  its  madness  and  horror.  He  saw 
himself  as  he  had  walked  scowling  toward  the  front 
of  the  store;  he  had  paused  irresolutely  with  his 


198     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

hand  on  the  door-knob  and  then  had  turned  b-ack. 
The  old  merchant  was  standing  close  by  the  scales,  a 
tall  gaunt  figure  in  the  waning  light  of  day. 

"Why  do  you  tell  me  you  can't  do  it?"  he  had  de- 
manded with  dull  anger.  "You  have  the  money,  I 
know  that !" 

"I  didn't  tell  you  I  couldn't  do  it,  Mr.  Langham, 
I  merely  intimated  that  I  wouldn't,"  the  old  man 
had  rejoined  dryly. 

"You  have  the  money  in  your  safe !" 

"What  if  I  have?  It's  mine  to  do  with  as  I  think 
proper." 

"A  larger  sum  than  I  want — than  I  need !" 

"Quite  likely." 

A  furious  gust  of  passion  h&d  laid  hold  of  him, 
the  consciousness  of  his  necessity,  all-compelling  and 
relentless,  swept  through  his  brain.  Money  he  must 
have! — his  success,  his  happiness,  everything  de- 
pended on  it,  and  what  could  money  mean  to  this 
feeble  old  man  whose  days  were  almost  spent? 

"I  want  you  to  let  me  have  two  thousand  dollars !" 
he  had  insisted,  as  he  placed  his  hand  on  the  old 
merchant's  shoulder.  "Get  it  for  me;  I  swear  I'll 
pay  it  back.  I'll  give  you  such  security  as  I  can — 
my  note — " 

McBride  had  laughed  dryly  at  this,  and  he  turned 
on  his  heel  as  though  to  reenter  the  office.  Langham 
shot  a  quick  glance  about  him ;  the  store  was  empty, 
the  street  before  it  deserted;  he  saw  through  the 
dingy  windows  the  swirling  scarfs  of  white  that  the 


THE    GAMBLER'S   THEORY  199 

wind  sent  flying  across  the  Square.  Now  was  his 
time  if  ever!  Bitter  resentment  urged  him  on — it 
was  a  monstrous  thing  that  those  who  could,  would 
not  help  him ! 

Near  the  scales  was  an  anvil,  and  leaning  against 
the  anvil-block  was  a  heavy  sledge.  As  the  old  mer- 
chant turned  from  him,  he  had  caught  up  the  sledge 
and  had  struck  him  a  savage  blow  on  the  head.  Mc- 
Bride  had  dropped  to  the  floor  without  cry  or  groan. 

Langham  passed  his  hand  before  his  eyes  to  blot 
out  the  vision  of  that  still  figure  on  the  floor,  and  a 
dry  sob  burst  from  his  lips. 

"Eh,  did  you  speak,  Marsh?"  asked  Gilmore. 

"No,"  said  Langham  in  a  whisper. 

Gilmore  laughed. 

"You  are  seeing  just  how  it  all  happened,  Marsh. 
There  was  a  sledge  by  the  anvil  that  stood  near  those 
scales,  and  when  the  old  fellow  wouldn't  come  to 
time,  my  man  lost  all  restraint  and  snatched  it  up, 
and  a  second  later  McBride  was  dead.  After  that 
my  man  had  things  all  his  own  way.  He  went 
through  the  safe  and  took  what  was  useful  to  him, — 
and  those  damn  bonds  of  North's  which  weren't  use- 
ful,— and  skipped  by  the  side  door  and  out  over  the 
shed  roof  and  down  the  alley,  just  as  Joe  said." 

Gilmore  paused,  and  flicked  away  a  bit  of  cigar 
ash  that  had  lodged  in  a  crease  of  his  coat. 

'That's  the  whole  story  of  the  McBride  murder. 
Now  what  do  you  think  of  my  theorizing,  Marsh; 
how  does  it  strike  you  ?" 


200     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

But  Langham  did  not  answer  him.  The  gambler's 
words  had  brought  it  all  back;  he  was  living  again 
the  agony  of  that  first  conscious  moment  when  he 
realized  the  thing  he  had  done.  He  remembered  his 
hurried  search  for  the  money,  and  his  flight  through 
the  side  door;  he  remembered  crossing  the  shed  roof 
and  the  panic  that  had  seized  him  as  he  dropped  into 
the  alley  beyond,  unseen,  safe  as  he  supposed.  A  de- 
bilitating reaction,  such  as  follows  some  tremendous 
physical  effort,  had  quickly  succeeded.  He  had 
wandered  through  the  deserted  streets  seeking  con- 
trol of  himself  in  vain.  Finally  he  had  gone  home. 
Evelyn  was  at  his  father's  and  the  servant  absent 
for  the  day.  He  had  let  himself  in  with  his  latch- 
key and  had  gone  at  once  to  the  library.  There  he 
fell  to  pacing  to  and  fro;  ten — twenty  minutes  had 
passed,  when  the  sudden  noisy  clamor  of  the  town 
bell  had  taken  him,  cowering,  to  the  window;  but  the 
world  beyond  was  a  vaguely  curtained  white. 

He  raised  his  heavy  bloodshot  eyes  and  looked  into 
the  gambler's  smiling  face.  He  realized  the  futility 
of  his  act,  since  it  had  placed  him  irrevocably  in 
Gilmore's  power.  He  had  endured  unspeakable  an- 
guish all  to  no  purpose,  since  Gilmore  knew;  knew 
with  the  certitude  of  an  eye-witness.  And  there  the 
gambler  sat  smiling  and  at  ease,  torturing  him  with 
his  cunning  speech. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

LOVE  THAT  ENDURES 

A  MELANCHOLY  wind  raked  the  bare  hills 
.which  rose  beyond  the  flats,  and  found  its  way 
across  half  the  housetops  in  Mount  Hope  to  the 
solitary  window  that  gave  light  and  air  to  John 
North's  narrow  cell.  For  seven  long  days,  over  the 
intervening  housetops,  he  had  been  observing  those 
undulating  hills,  gazing  at  them  until  they  seemed 
like  some  great  live  thing  continually  crawling 
along  the  horizon's  rim,  and  continually  disappear- 
ing in  the  distance.  Now  he  was  watching  their 
misted  shapes  sink  deep  into  the  twilight. 

North,  by  his  counsel,  had  waved  the  usual  pre- 
liminary hearing  before  the  mayor,  his  case  had  gone 
at  once  to  the  grand  jury,  he  had  been  indicted  and 
his  trial  was  set  for  the  February  term  of  court. 
Watt  Harbison  had  warned  him  that  he  might  ex- 
pect only  this,  yet  his  first  feeling  of  astonished 
horror  remained  with  him. 

As  he  stood  by  his  window  He  was  recalling  the 
separate  events  of  the  day.  The  court  room  had  been 
crowded  to  the  verge  of  suffocation ;  when  he  entered 
it  a  sudden  hush  and  a  mighty  craning  of  necks  had 

201 


202     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

been  his  welcome,  and  he  had  felt  his  cheeks  redden 
and  pale  with  a  sense  of  shame  at  his  hapless  plight. 
Those  many  pairs  of  eyes  that  were  fixed  on  him 
seemed  to  lay  bare  his  inmost  thoughts;  he  had 
known  no  refuge  from  their  pitiless  insistence. 

In  that  close  overheated  room  the  vitiated  air  had 
slowly  mounted  to  the  brain;  soon  a  third  of  the 
spectators  nodded  in  their  chairs  scarcely  able  to 
keep  awake;  others  moved  restlessly  with  a  dull 
sense  of  physical  discomfort,  while  the  law,  ex- 
pressing itself  in  archaic  terms,  wound  its  way 
through  a  labyrinth  of  technicalities,  and  reached 
out  hungrily  for  his  very  life. 

He  knew  that  he  would  be  given  every  opportu- 
nity to  establish  his  innocence,  but  he  could  not  rid 
himself  of  the  ugly  disconcerting  belief  that  a  man 
hunt  was  on,  and  that  he,  the  hunted  creature,  was  to 
be  driven  from  cover  to  cover  while  the  state  drew 
its  threads  of  testimony  about  him  strand  by  strand, 
until  they  finally  reached  his  very  throat,  choking, 
strangling,  killing! 

He  thought  of  Elizabeth  and  was  infinitely  sorry. 
She  must  forget  him,  she  must  go  her  way  and 
leave  him  to  go  his — or  the  law's.  He  could  face 
the  ruin  of  his  own  life,  but  it  must  stop  there!  He 
wondered  what  they  were  saying  and  doing  at  Idle 
Hour;  he  wondered  what  the  whole  free  world  was 
doing,  while  he  stood  there  gazing  from  behind  his 
bars  at  the  empurpled  hills  in  the  distance. 

He  fell  to  pacing  the  narrow  limits  of  his  room; 


LOVE    THAT    ENDURES  203 

four  steps  took  hirn  to  the  door,  then  he  turned  and 
four  steps  took  him  back  to  his  starting-point,  the 
barred  window.  Presently  a  footfall  sounded  in  the 
corridor,  a  key  was  fitted  in  the  heavy  lock,  and  the 
door  was  opened  by  Brockett,  the  sheriff's  deputy, 
a  round-faced,  jolly,  little  man  with  a  shiny  bald 
head  and  a  closely  cropped  gray  mustache. 

"You've  got  visitors,  John!"  said  Brockett  cheer- 
fully, pausing  in  the  doorway. 

North  turned  on  him  swiftly. 

"The  general  and  Miss  Herbert, — you  see  your 
friends  ain't  forgot  you !  You'll  want  to  see  them,  I 
suppose,  and  you'd  rather  go  down  in  the  office, 
wouldn't  you?" 

"I  should  much  prefer  it!"  said  North. 

His  first  emotion  had  been  one  of  keen  delight, 
but  as  he  followed  Brockett  down  the  corridor 
the  memory  of  what  he  was,  and  where  he  was,  came 
back  to  him.  He  had  no  right  to  demand  anything 
of  love  or  friendship, — guilty  or  innocent  mattered 
not  at  all !  They  were  nearing  the  door  now  be- 
yond which  stood  Elizabeth  and  her  father,  and 
North  paused,  placing  a  hand  on  the  deputy's 
arm.  The  spirit  of  his  renunciation  had  been 
strong  within  him,  but  another  feeling  was  stronger 
still,  he  found;  an  ennobling  pride  in  her  devotion 
and  trust.  What  a  pity  the  finer  things  of  life  were 
so  often  the  impractical !  He  pushed  past  the  deputy 
and  entered  the  office. 

Elizabeth  came  toward  him  with  hands  extended. 


206     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

myself  if  I  really  cared  so  much  that  nothing 
counted  against  the  little  comfort  I  might  be  to  you ; 
so  much  that  the  thought  of  what  I  am  to  you  would 
outweigh  every  other  consideration,  and  I  am  sure 
of  myself.  If  I  were  not,  I  should  probably  wish 
to  escape  from  it  all.  I  am  as  much  afraid  of  public 
opinion  as  any  one,  and  as  easily  hurt,  but  my  love 
has  carried  me  beyond  the  point  where  such  things 
matter  I" 

"My  dear!  My  dear!  I  am  not  worthy  of  such 
love." 

"You  must  let  me  be  the  judge  of  that." 

"Suppose  the  verdict  is — guilty  ?"  he  asked. 

"No, — no,  it  will  never  be  that!"  But  the  color 
left  her  cheeks. 

"I  don't  suppose  it  will  be,"  agreed  North  hastily. 

It  was  a  cruel  thing  to  force  this  doubt  on  her. 

"You  won't  send  me  away,  John?"  she  entreated. 
"If  I  were  to  leave  Mount  Hope  now  it  would 
break  my  heart!  I — we — my  father  and  I,  wish 
every  one  to  know  that  our  confidence  in  you  is  un- 
shaken." 

North  turned  to  the  general  with  a  look  of  in- 
quiry, of  appeal.  Something  very  like  a  sigh 
escaped  the  older  man's  lips,  but  he  squared  his 
shoulders  manfully  for  the  burdens  they  must  bear. 
He  said  quietly : 

"Let  us  consider  a  phase  of  the  situation  that 
Elizabeth  and  I  have  been  discussing  this  afternoon. 
Watt  Harbison  is  no  doubt  doing  all  he  can  for  you ; 


LOVE    THAT    ENDURES  207 

but  he  was  at  Idle  Hour  last  night,  and  said  he 
would,  himself,  urge  on  you  the  retention  of  some 
experienced  criminal  lawyer.  He  suggested  Ex- 
judge  Belknap;  I  approve  of  this  suggestion — " 

But  North  shook  his  head. 

"Oh,  yes,  John,  it  must  be  Judge  Belknap !"  cried 
Elizabeth.  "Watt  says  it  must  be,  and  father  agrees 
with  him !" 

"But  I  haven't  the  money,  dear.  His  retainer 
would  probably  swallow  up  all  I  have  left." 

"Leave  Belknajj  to  me,  North!"  interposed  the 
general. 

North's  face  reddened. 

"You  are  very  kind,  and  I — I  appreciate  it  all, — * 
but  don't  you  see  I  can't  do  that?"  he  faltered. 

"Don't  be  foolish,  John.  You  must  reconsider 
this  determination ;  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  have  taken 
the  liberty  of  communicating  with  Belknap  by  wire; 
he  will  reach  Mount  Hope  in  the  morning.  We  are 
vitally  concerned,  North,  and  you  must  accept  help 
— money — whatever  is  necessary !" 

The  expression  on  North's  face  softened,  and  tears 
stood  in  his  eyes. 

"I  knew  you  would  prove  reasonable,"  continued 
the  general,  and  he  glanced  at  Elizabeth. 

She  was  everything  to  him.  He  could  have  wished 
that  North  was  almost  any  one  else  than  North; 
and  in  spite  of  himself  this  feeling  gave  its  color  to 
their  interview,  something  of  his  wonted  frankness 
was  lacking.     It  was  his  unconscious  protest. 


208     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Very  well,  then,  I  will  see  Judge  Belknap,  and 
some  day — when  I  can — "  said  North,  still  strug- 
gling with  his  emotion  and  his  pride. 

"Oh,  don't  speak  of  that!"  exclaimed  General 
Herbert  hastily. 

"This  miserable  business  could  not  have  happened 
at  a  worse  time  for  me !"  said  the  young  fellow  with 
bitterness. 

"Don't  say  that,  John !"  pleaded  Elizabeth.  "For 
your  friends — " 

"You  and  your  father,  you  mean!"  interrupted 
North. 

"It  is  hard  enough  to  think  of  you  here  alone, 
without — "  Her  voice  faltered,  and  this  time  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"I'll  not  object  again,  Elizabeth;  that  you  should 
suffer  is  much  the  worst  part  of  the  whole  affair !" 

Brockett  had  entered  the  room  and  General  Her- 
bert had  drawn  him  aside. 

"I  am  coming  every  day,  John!"  said  Elizabeth. 

"Will  your  father  agree  to  that?"  asked  North. 

"Yes,  can't  you  see  how  good  and  kind  he  is !" 

"Indeed  I  can,  it  is  far  beyond  what  I  should  be 
in  his  place,  I'm  afraid." 

"It  has  been  so  horrible, — such  nights  of  agony — " 
she  whispered. 

"I  know,  dear, — I  know !"  he  said  tenderly. 

"They  are  not  looking  for  other  clues  and  yet 
the  man  who  killed  poor  old  man  McBride  may  be 
somewhere  in  Mount  Hope  at  this  very  minute!" 


LOVE   THAT   ENDURES  209 

"Until  I  am  proved  innocent,  I  suppose  they  see 
nothing  to  do/'  said  North. 

"But,  John,  you  are  not  afraid  of  the  outcome?" 
And  she  rested  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"No,  I  don't  suppose  I  really  am, — I  shall  be  able 
to  clear  myself,  of  course;  the  law  doesn't  often  pun- 
ish innocent  men,  and  I  am  innocent." 

He  spoke  with  quiet  confidence,  and  her  face  be- 
came radiant  with  the  hope  that  was  in  his  words. 

"You  have  taken  to  yourself  more  than  your  share 
of  my  evil  fortunes,  Elizabeth,  dear — I  shall  be  a 
poor  sort  of  a  fellow  if  my  gratitude  does  not  last 
to  the  end  of  my  days!"  said  North. 

The  general  had  shaken  hands  with  the  deputy 
and  now  crossed  the  room  to  Elizabeth  and  North. 

"We  shall  have  to  say  good  night,  North.  Can 
we  do  anything  before  we  go?"  he  asked. 

"We  will  come  again  to-morrow,  John, — won't 
we,  father?"  said  Elizabeth,  as  she  gave  North  her 
hands.  "And  Judge  Belknap  will  be  here  in  the 
morning!"  She  spoke  with  fresh  courage  and 
looked  her  lover  straight  in  the  eyes.  Then  she 
turned  to  the  general. 

North  watched  them  as  they  passed  out  into  the 
night,  and  even  after  the  door  had  closed  on  them 
he  stood  where  she  had  left  him.  It  was  only  when 
the  little  deputy  spoke  that  he  roused  himself  from 
his  reverie. 

"Well,  John,  are  you  ready  now?" 

"Yes,"  said  North. 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

AT  HIS  OWN  DOOR 

JUDGE  LANGHAM  sat  in  his  library  before  a 
brisk  wood  fire  with  the  day's  papers  in  a  heap 
on  the  floor  beside  him.  In  repose,  the  one  dominant 
expression  of  the  judge's  face  was  pride,  an  austere 
pride,  which  manifested  itself  even  in  the  most 
casual  intercourse.  Yet  no  man  in  Mount  Hope 
combined  fewer  intimacies  with  a  wider  confidence, 
and  his  many  years  of  public  life  had  but  augmented 
the  universal  respect  in  which  he  was  held. 

Now  in  the  ruddy  light  of  his  own  hearth,  but 
quite  divorced  from  any  sentiment  or  sympathy, 
the  judge  was  considering  the  case  of  John  North. 
His  mind  in  all  its  operations  was  singularly  clear 
and  dispassionate;  a  judicial  calm,  as  though  born 
to  the  bench,  was  habitual  to  him.  It  was  nothing 
that  his  acquaintance  with  John  North  dated  back  to 
the  day  John  North  first  donned  knee-breeches. 

He  shaded  his  face  with  his  hand.  In  the  long 
procession  of  evil-doers  who  had  gone  their  devious 
ways  through  the  swinging  baize  doors  of  his  court, 
North  stalked  as  the  one  great  criminal.  Uncon- 
sciously his  glance  fixed  itself  on  the  hand  he  had 

210 


AT    HIS    OWN    DOOR  211 

raised  to  shield  his  eyes  from  the  light  of  the  blaz- 
ing logs,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  that  hand 
might  yet  be  called  on  to  sign  away  a  man's  life. 

The  ringing  of  his  door-bell  caused  him  to  start 
expectantly,  and  a  moment  later  a  maid  entered  to 
say  that  a  man  and  a  woman  wished  to  see  him. 

"Show  them  in  !"  said  the  judge. 

And  Mr.  Shrimplin  with  all  that  modesty  of  de- 
meanor which  one  of  his  sensitive  nature  might  be 
expected  to  feel  in  the  presence  of  greatness,  prompt- 
ly insinuated  himself  into  the  room. 

The  little  lamplighter  was  dressed  in  those  respect- 
able garments  which  in  the  Shrimplin  household 
were  adequately  described  as  his  "other  suit,"  and 
as  if  to  remove  any  doubt  from  the  mind  of  the  be- 
holder that  he  had  failed  to  prepare  himself  for  the 
occasion,  he  wore  a  clean  paper  collar,  but  no  tie, 
this  latter  being  an  adornment  Mr.  Shrimplin  had 
not  attempted  in  years.  Close  on  Shrimplin's  heels 
came  a  jaded  unkempt  woman  in  a  black  dress, 
worn  and  mended.  On  seeing  her  the  judge's  cold 
scrutiny  somewhat  relaxed. 

"So  it's  you,  Nellie?"  he  said,  and  motioned  her  to 
a  chair  opposite  his  own. 

Not  knowing  exactly  what  was  expected  of  him, 
Mr.  Shrimplin  remained  standing  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  hat  in  hand. 

"Be  seated,  Shrimplin,"  said  the  judge,  sensing 
something  of  the  lamplighter's  embarrassment  in 
his  presence  and  rather  liking  him  for  it. 


212      THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

'Thank  you,  Judge,"  replied  Shrimplin,  select- 
ing a  straight-backed  chair  in  a  shadowy  corner  of 
the  room,  on  the  very  edge  of  which  he  humbly 
established  himself. 

"Better  draw  nearer  the  fire,  Shrimplin !"  advised 
the  judge. 

"Thank  you,  Judge,  I  ain't  cold,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Shrimplin  in  his  best  manner. 

The  judge  turned  to  the  woman.  She  had  once 
been  a  servant  in  his  household,  but  had  quitted  his 
employ  to  marry  Joe  Montgomery,  and  to  become 
by  that  same  act  Mr.  Shrimplin's  sister-in-law. 
The  judge  knew  that  her  domestic  life  had  been 
filled  with  every  known  variety  of  trouble,  since 
from  time  to  time  she  had  appealed  to  him  for  help 
or  advice,  and  on  more  than  one  occasion  at  her 
urgent  request  he  had  interviewed  the  bibulous  Joe. 

"I  hope  you  are  not  in  trouble,  Nellie,"  he  said, 
not  unkindly. 

"Yes  I  am,  Judge!"  cried  his  visitor  in  a  voice 
worn  thin  by  weariness. 

"It's  that  disgustin'  Joe!"  interjected  Mr.  Shrimp- 
lin from  his  corner,  advancing  his  hooked  nose  from 
the  shadows.  "Don't  take  up  the  judge's  time,  Nel- 
lie; time's  money,  and  money's  as  infrequent  as  a 
white  crow." 

And  then  suddenly  and  painfully  conscious  of 
his  verbal  forwardness,  the  little  lamplighter  sank 
back  into  the  grateful  gloom  of  his  corner  and 
was  mute. 


AT    HIS    OWN    DOOR  213 

"It's  my  man,  Judge — "  said  Nellie. 

And  the  judge  nodded  comprehendingly. 

"I  don't  know  how  me  and  my  children  are  to  live 
through  the  winter,  I  declare  I  don't,  Judge,  unless 
he  gives  me  a  little  help !" 

"And  the  winter  ain't  fairly  here  yet,  and  it's  got 
a  long  belly  when  it  does  come !"  said  Mr.  Shrimp- 
lin. 

Immediately  the  little  man  was  conscious  of  the 
impropriety  of  his  language.  He  realized  that  the 
happy  and  forcefully  expressed  philosophy  with 
which  he  sought  to  open  Custer's  mind  to  the  prac- 
tical truths  of  life,  was  a  jarring  note  in  the  judge's 
library. 

"Joe's  acting  scandalous,  Judge,  just  scandalous!" 
said  Nellie  with  sudden  shrill  energy.  "That  man 
would  take  the  soul  out  of  a  saint  with  his  carry- 
ings-on !" 

"It  seems  to  me  there  is  nothing  new  in  this,"  ob- 
served the  judge  a  little  impatiently.  "Is  he  under 
arrest?" 

"No,  Judge,  he  ain't  under  arrest — "  began  Nel- 
lie. 

"Which  ain't  saying  he  hadn't  ought  to  be!"  the 
little  lamplighter  snorted  savagely.  He  suddenly  re- 
membered he  was  there  to  give  his  moral  support  to 
his  sister-in-law. 

"That  man's  got  a  new  streak  into  him,  Judge.  I 
thought  he'd  about  done  everything  he  could  do  that 
he  shouldn't,  but  he's  broke  out  in  a  fresh  spot !" 


214     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"What  has  he  been  doing,  Nellie?"  asked  the 
judge,  who  felt  that  his  callers  had  so  far  lacked 
in  directness  and  defmiteness. 

"What  ain't  he  been  doing,  you'd  better  say, 
Judge!"  cried  Nellie  miserably. 

"Is  he  abusing  you  or  the  children?" 

"I  don't  see  him  from  one  week's  end  to  another !" 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  he  has  deserted  you?" 
questioned  the  judge. 

"No,  I  can't  say  that,  for  he  sends  his  clothes  home 
for  me  to  wash  and  mend." 

"Ain't  that  the  human  sufferin'  limit?"  gasped 
Mr.  Shrimplin. 

"I  suppose  you  wash  and  mend  them?"  And  the 
judge  smiled  faintly. 

"Of  course,"  admitted  Mrs.  Montgomery  simply. 

"Does  he  contribute  anything  toward  your  sup- 
port?" asked  the  judge. 

The  woman  laughed  sarcastically  at  this. 

"It  takes  a  barkeeper  to  pry  Joe  loose  from  his 
coin,"  interjected  Mr.  Shrimplin.  "Get  down  to  de- 
tails, Nellie,  and  tell  the  judge  what  kind  of  a  crit- 
ter you're  hitched  up  to." 

"He  told  Arthur,  that's  my  oldest  boy,  if  I  didn't 
stop  bothering  him,  that  he  was  just  man  enough 
to  pay  five  dollars  for  the  fun  of  knocking  the  front 
off  my  face !" 

"That  was  a  choice  one  to  hand  out  to  an  eldest 
son,  wasn't  it,  your  Honor?"  said  the  little  lamp- 
lighter, tugging  at  his  flaxen  mustache. 


AT    HIS    OWN    DOOR  215 

"I  just  manage  to  keep  a  roof  over  our  heads," 
went  on  Nellie,  "and  without  any  thanks  to  him; 
but  he  has  plenty  of  money,  and  where  it  comes 
from  I'd  like  to  know,  for  he  ain't  done  a  lick  of 
work  in  weeks!" 

"Fact,  Judge!"  remarked  Mr.  Shrimplin.  "I've 
made  it  my  business  lately  to  keep  one  eye  on  Joe. 
He  spends  half  his  time  loafin'  at  Andy  Gilmore's 
rooms,  and  the  other  half  gettin'  pickled." 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do?"  asked  the  judge, 
addressing  himself  to  Mrs.  Montgomery. 

"I  wish,  Judge,  that  you'd  send  word  to  him  that 
you  want  to  see  him  !" 

"And  toss  a  good  healthy  scare  into  him !"  added 
Mr.  Shrimplin  aggressively. 

"But  he  might  not  care  to  respect  the  summons; 
there  is  no  reason  why  he  should,"  explained  the 
judge. 

"If  he  knows  you  want  to  see  him,  he'll  come  here 
fast  enough  !"  said  Nellie. 

The  judge  turned  to  Shrimplin. 

"Will  you  tell  him  this,  Shrimplin,  the  first  time 
you  see  him?" 

"Won't  I !"  said  the  little  lamplighter.  "Certainly, 
Judge — certainly !"  and  his  agile  fancy  had  already 
clothed  the  message  in  verbiage  that  should  terrify 
the  delinquent  Joe. 

"Very  well,  then ;  but  beyond  giving  him  a  word 
of  advice  and  warning.  I  can  do  nothing." 

A  night  or  two  later,  as  the  judge,  who  had  spent 


2i6     THE   JUST   AND    THE   UNJUST 

the  evening  at  Colonel  Harbison's,  came  to  his  own 
gate,  he  saw  a  slouching  figure  detach  itself  from 
the  shadows  near  his  front  door  and  advance  to  meet 
him  midway  of  the  graveled  path  that  led  to  the 
street.     It  was  Joe  Montgomery. 

"Well,  my  man !"  said  the  judge,  with  some  little 
show  of  sternness.  "I  suppose  you  received  my  mes- 
sage ?" 

Montgomery  uncovered  his  shock  of  red  hair, 
while  his  bulk  of  bone  and  muscle  actually  trembled 
in  the  presence  of  the  small  but  awesome  figure  con- 
fronting him.  He  might  have  crushed  the  judge 
with  a  blow  of  his  huge  fist,  but  no  possible  provo- 
cation could  have  induced  him  to  lay  hands  on  Nel- 
lie's powerful  ally. 

"That  skunk  Shrimplin  says  my  old  woman's  been 
here,"  he  faltered,  "poisonin'  your  mind  agin  me!" 
A  sickly  grin  relaxed  his  heavy  jaws.  "The  Lord 
only  knows  what  she  expects  of  a  man — I  dunno! 
The  more  I  try,  the  worse  she  gets;  nothin'  satisfies 
her!" 

His  breath,  reeking  of  whisky,  reached  the  judge. 

"This  is  all  very  well,  Montgomery,  but  I  have  a 
word  or  two  to  say  to  you — come  into  the  house." 

He  led  his  disreputable  visitor  into  the  library, 
turned  up  the  gas,  and  intrenched  himself  on  the 
hearth-rug  with  his  back  to  the  fire.  The  handy- 
man had  kept  near  the  door  leading  into  the  hall. 

"Come  closer!"  commanded  the  judge,  and  Mont- 
gomery, hat  in  hand,  advanced  a  step.     "I  wish  to 


AT    HIS    OWN    DOOR  217 

warn  you,  Montgomery,  that  if  you  persist  in  your 
present  course,  it  is  certain  to  bring  its  own  conse- 
quences," began  the  judge. 

"Sure,  boss!"  Joe  faltered  abjectly. 

"I  understand  from  Nellie  that  you  have  prac- 
tically deserted  your  family,"  continued  the  judge. 

"Ain't  she  hateful  ?"  cried  Joe,  shaking  his  great 
head. 

"When  she  married  you,  she  had  a  right  to  expect 
you  would  not  turn  out  the  scoundrel  you  are  prov- 
ing yourself." 

"Boss,  that's  so,"  agreed  Montgomery. 

"This  won't  do!"  said  the  judge  briskly.  "Nellie 
says  she  doesn't  see  you  from  one  week's  end  to  an- 
other ;  that  you  have  money  and  yet  contribute  noth- 
ing toward  her  support  nor  the  support  of  your 
family." 

"I  am  willin'  to  go  home,  Judge!"  said  Mont- 
gomery, fingering  his  cap  with  clumsy  hands.  He 
took  a  step  nearer  the  slight  figure  on  the  hearth- 
rug and  dropped  his  voice  to  a  husky  half  maudlin 
whisper.  "He  won't  let  me — see — I'm  a  nigger 
slave  to  him !  I  know  I  got  a  wife — I  know  I  got 
a  family,  but  he  says — no  !  He  says — 'Joe,  you 
damned  old  sot,  you'll  go  home  with  a  few  drinks 
inside  your  freckled  hide  and  begin  to  shoot  off  your 
mouth,  and  there'll  be  hell  to  pay  for  all  of  us !'  " 

"He?  What  are  you  saying — who  won't  let  you 
go  home?"  demanded  the  judge. 

"Andy  Gilmore;  he's  afraid  my  old  woman  will 


218     THE    JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

get  it  out  of  me.  I  tell  him  I'm  a  married  man  but 
he  says,  'No,  you  old  soak,  you  stay  here !'  " 

"What  has  Andy  Gilmore  to  do  with  whether  you 
go  home  or  not?"  inquired  the  judge. 

"It's  him  and  Marsh,"  said  the  handy-man. 
"They  bully  me  till  I'm  that  rattled — " 

"Marsh — do  you  mean  my  son,  Marshall?"  inter- 
rupted the  judge. 

"Yes,  boss—" 

"I  don't  understand  this !"  said  the  judge  after  a 
moment  of  silence.  "Why  should  Mr.  Gilmore  or 
my  son  wish  to  keep  you  away  from  your  wife?" 

"It's  just  a  notion  of  theirs,"  replied  Montgomery 
with  sudden  drunken  loyalty.  "And  I'll  say  this — 
money  never  come  so  easy — and  stuff  to  drink! 
Andy's  got  it  scattered  all  about  the  place;  there 
ain't  many  bars  in  this  here  town  stocked  up  like  his 
rooms !" 

The  judge  devoted  a  moment  to  a  close  scrutiny  of 
his  caller. 

"You  are  some  sort  of  a  relative  of  Mr.  Gilmore's, 
are  you  not?"  he  asked  at  length. 

"We're  cousins,  boss." 

"Why  does  he  wish  to  keep  you  away  from  your 
family?"  the  judge  spoke  after  another  brief  pause. 

"It's  my  old  woman,"  and  Montgomery  favored 
the  judge  with  a  drunken  leer.  "Suppose  I  was  to  go 
home  full,  what's  to  hinder  her  from  gettin'  things 
out  of  me?  I'm  a  talker,  drunk  or  sober,  and  Andy 
Gilmore  knows  it — that's  what  he's  afraid  of!" 


AT    HIS    OWN    DOOR  219 

"What  have  you  to  tell  that  could  affect  Mr.  Gil- 
more?  Do  you  refer  to  the  gambling  that  is  sup- 
posed to  go  on  in  his  rooms?  If  so,  he  is  at  needless 
pains  in  the  matter;  Mr.  Moxlow  will  take  up  his 
case  as  soon  as  the  North  trial  is  out  of  the  way." 

Montgomery  started,  took  a  forward  step,  and 
dropping  his  voice  to  an  impressive  whisper,  said : 

"Judge,  what  are  you  goin'  to  do  with  young 
John  North?" 

"I  shall  do  nothing  with  John  North ;  it  is  the  law 
— society,  to  which  he  is  accountable,"  rejoined  the 
judge. 

"Will  he  be  sent  up,  do  you  reckon?"  asked  Mont- 
gomery, and  his  small  blue  eyes  searched  the  judge's 
face  eagerly. 

"If  he  is  convicted,  he  will  either  be  sentenced  to 
the  penitentiary  for  a  term  of  years  or  else  hanged." 
The  judge  spoke  without  visible  feeling. 

The  effect  of  his  words  on  the  handy-man  was  sin- 
gular. A  hoarse  exclamation  burst  from  his  lips, 
and  his  bloated  face  became  pale  and  drawn. 

"You  mustn't  do  that,  boss!"  he  cried,  spreading 
out  his  great  hands  in  protest.  "A  term  of  years — 
how  many's  that?" 

"In  this  particular  instance  it  may  mean  the  rest 
of  his  life,"  said  the  judge. 

Montgomery  threw  up  his  arms  in  a  gesture  of 
despair. 

"Don't  you  be  too  rough  on  him,  boss!"  he  cried. 
"For  life!"  he  repeated  in  a  tone  of  horror.     "But 


220     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

that  ain't  what  Andy  and  Marsh  tell  me;  they  say 
his  friends  will  see  him  through,  that  he's  got  the 
general  back  of  him,  and  money — how's  that, 
Judge?" 

"They  are  making  sport  of  your  ignorance,"  said 
the  judge,  almost  pityingly. 

"I'm  done  with  them!"  cried  Joe  Montgomery 
with  a  great  oath.  He  raised  one  clenched  hand  and 
brought  it  down  in  the  opened  palm  of  the  other. 
"Andy's  everlastingly  lied  to  me;  I  won't  help  send 
no  man  up  for  life!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  the  judge,  as- 
tonished at  this  sudden  outburst,  and  impressed,  in 
spite  of  himself,  by  the  man's  earnestness. 

"Just  what  I  say,  boss !  They  can  count  me  out — 
I'm  agin  'em,  I'm  agin  'em  every  time !"  And  again, 
as  if  to  give  force  to  his  words,  he  swung  his  heavy 
first  around  and  struck  the  open  palm  of  his  other 
hand  a  stinging  blow.  "Eatin'  and  sleepin',  I'm  agin 
'em !  I  ain't  liked  the  look  of  this  from  the  first,  and 
now  I'm  down  and  out,  and  they  can  go  to  hell  for 
all  of  me!" 

The  judge  rested  an  elbow  on  the  chimneypiece 
and  regarded  Montgomery  curiously.  He  knew  the 
man  was  drunk;  he  knew  that  sober  he  would  prob- 
ably have  said  much  less  than  he  was  now  saying, 
but  he  also  knew  that  there  was  some  powerful  feel- 
ing back  of  his  words. 

"If  you  are  involved  in  any  questionable  manner 
with  Mr.  Gilmore,  I  should  advise  you  to  think  twice 


AT    HIS    OWN    DOOR  221 

before  you  go  further  with  it.  Mr.  Gilmore  is 
shrewd,  he  has  money ;  you  are  a  poor  man  and  you 
are  an  ignorant  man.  Your  reputation  is  none  of  the 
best." 

"Thank  you,  boss  !"  said  Montgomery  gratefully. 

"Mr.  Gilmore  probably  expects  to  use  you  for  his 
own  ends  regardless  of  the  consequences  to  you," 
finished  the  judge. 

"Supposin' — "  began  the  handy-man  huskily, 
"supposing  boss,  I  was  to  go  into  court  and  swear  to 
something  that  wasn't  so;  what's  that?"  and  he  bent 
a  searching  glance  on  the  judge's  face. 

"Perjury,"  said  the  judge  laconically. 

"What's  it  worth  to  a  man?  I  reckon  it's  like 
drinkin'  and  stealin',  it's  got  so  many  days  and  costs 
chalked  up  agin  it?" 

"I  think,"  said  the  judge  quietly,  "that  you  would 
better  tell  me  what  you  mean.  Ordinarily  I  should 
not  care  to  mix  in  your  concerns,  but  on  Nellie's  ac- 
count— " 

"God  take  a  likin'  to  you,  boss!"  cried  Mont- 
gomery. "I  know  I  ought  to  have  kept  out  of  this.  I 
told  Andy  Gilmore  how  it  would  be,  that  I  hadn't 
the  brains  for  it;  but  he  was  to  stand  back  of  me. 
And  so  he  will — to  give  me  a  kick  and  a  shove  when 
he's  done  with  me !" 

He  saw  himself  caught  in  that  treacherous  fabric 
Gilmore  had  erected  for  John  North,  whose  power- 
ful friends  would  get  him  clear.  Andy  and  Marsh 
would  go  unscathed,  too.      Only  Joe  Montgomery 


222      THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

would  suffer — Joe  Montgomery,  penniless  and 
friendless,  a  cur  in  the  gutter  for  any  decent  man  to 
kick!  He  passed  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his 
face. 

"It's  a  hell  of  a  world  and  be  damned  to  it!"  he 
muttered  hoarsely  under  his  breath. 

"You  must  make  it  clearer  to  me  than  this!"  said 
the  judge  impatiently. 

Montgomery  seemed  to  undergo  a  brief  but  in- 
tense mental  struggle,  then  he  blurted  out : 

"Boss,  I  lied  when  I  said  it  was  North  I  seen 
come  over  old  man  McBride's  shed  that  night!" 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  perjured  your- 
self in  the  North  case?"  asked  the  judge  sternly. 

"Sure,  I  lied !"  said  the  handy-man.  "But  Andy 
Gilmore  was  back  of  that  lie;  it  was  him  told  me 
what  I  was  to  say,  and  it's  him  that  kept  houndin' 
me,  puttin'  me  up  to  say  more  than  I  ever  agreed 
to  !"  He  slouched  nearer  the  judge.  "Boss,  I  chuck 
up  the  whole  business;  do  you  understand?  I  want 
to  take  back  all  I  said;  I'm  willin'  to  tell  the  God 
A'mighty's  truth !" 

He  paused  abruptly.  In  his  excitement  he  had 
forgotten  what  the  truth  meant,  what  it  would  mean 
to  the  man  before  him.  He  was  vaguely  aware  that 
in  abler  hands  than  his  own,  this  knowledge  which 
he  possessed  would  have  been  molded  into  a  terri- 
ble weapon,  but  he  was  impotent  to  use  it;  with  every 
advantage  his,  he  felt  only  the  desperate  pass  in 
which    he    had    placed    himself.      If    Gilmore    and 


AT    HIS    OWN    DOOR  223 

Marshall  Langham  could  juggle  with  John  North's 
life,  what  of  his  own  life  when  the  judge  should  have 
become  their  ally ! 

"Me  and  you'll  have  to  fix  up  what  I  got  to  say, 
boss !"  he  added  with  a  cunning  grin. 

"Do  you  mean  you  wish  to  make  a  statement  to 
me?"  asked  the  judge. 

The  handy-man.  nodded.     The  judge  hesitated. 

"Perhaps  we  would  better  send  for  Mr.  Moxlow?" 
he  suggested. 

But  Montgomery  shook  his  head  vehemently. 

"I  got  nothin'  to  say  to  that  man  Moxlow!"  he 
growled  with  sullen  determination. 

"Very  well,  then,  if  you  prefer  to  make  your  state- 
ment to  me,"  and  the  judge  turned  to  his  desk. 

"Hold  on,  boss,  we  ain't  ready  for  that  just  yet!" 
Joe  objected.     He  was  sober  enough,  by  this  time. 

"What  is  it  you  wish  to  tell  me?" 

And  the  judge  resumed  his  former  position  on  the 
hearth-rug. 

"First  you  got  to  agree  to  get  me  out  of  this." 

"I  can  agree  to  nothing,"  answered  the  judge 
quietly. 

"I  ain't  smart,  boss,  but  Joe  Montgomery's  old 
hide  means  a  whole  lot  to  Joe  Montgomery!  You 
give  me  your  word  that  I'll  be  safe,  no  matter  what 
happens !" 

"I  can  promise  you  nothing,"  repeated  the  judge. 

"Then  what's  the  use  of  my  tellin'  you  the 
truth  ?"  demanded  Montgomery. 


224     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

"It  has  become  the  part  of  wisdom,  since  you  have 
already  admitted  that  you  have  perjured  yourself." 

"Boss,  if  it  wasn't  John  North  I  seen  in  the  alley 
that  day,  who  was  it?"  and  he  strode  close  to  the 
judge's  side,  dropping  his  voice  to  a  whisper. 

"Perhaps  the  whole  story  was  a  lie." 

The  handy-man  laughed  and  drew  himself  up 
aggressively. 

"I'm  a  man  as  can  do  damage — I  got  to  be  treated 
right,  or  by  the  Lord  I'll  do  damage!  I  been  badg- 
ered and  hounded  by  Marsh  and  Andy  Gilmore  till 
I'm  fair  crazy.  They  got  to  take  their  hands  off  me 
and  leave  me  loose,  for  I  won't  hang  no  man  on 
their  say-so !  John  North  never  done  me  no  harm, 
I  got  nothing  agin  him !" 

"You  have  admitted  that  your  whole  story  of  see- 
ing John  North  on  the  night  of  the  McBride  murder 
is  a  lie,"  said  the  judge. 

"Boss,  there  is  truth  enough  in  it  to  hang  a  man!" 

"You  saw  a  man  cross  McBride's  sheds?" 

And  the  judge  kept  his  eyes  fastened  on  the 
handy-man's  face. 

"I  seen  a  man  cross  McBride's  shed,  boss." 

"And  you  have  sworn  that  that  man  was  John 
North." 

"I  swore  to  a  lie.  Boss,  we  got  to  fix  it  this  way : 
I  seen  a  man  come  over  the  roof  and  drop  into  the 
alley;  I  swore  it  was  John  North,  but  I  never 
meant  to  swear  to  that;  the  most  I  promised  Andy 
was  that  I'd  say  I  thought  it  looked  like  John  North, 


AT    HIS    OWN    DOOR  225 

but  them  infernal  lawyers  got  after  me,  and  the  first 
thing  I  knowed  I'd  said  it  was  John  North !" 

"Your  story  is  absurd !"  exclaimed  the  judge, 
with  a  show  of  anger. 

The  handy-man  raised  his  right  hand  dramat- 
ically. 

"It's  God  A'mighty's  everlastin'  truth!"  he  swore. 

"Understand,  I  have  made  you  no  promises,"  said 
the  judge,  disregarding  him. 

"You're  goin'  back  on  me!"  cried  Montgomery. 
"Then  you  look  out.  I'm  a  man  as  can  do  harm  if 
I  have  a  mind  to;  don't  you  give  me  the  mind, 
boss !" 

"I  shall  lay  this  matter  before  Mr.  Moxlow  in  the 
morning,"  replied  the  judge  quietly  and  with  appar- 
ent indifference,  but  covertly  he  was  watching  the 
effect  of  his  words  on  Montgomery. 

"And  then  they'll  be  after  me !"  cried  the  handy- 
man. 

"Very  likely,"  said  the  judge  placidly. 

Montgomery  glanced  about  as  though  he  half 
expected  to  see  Gilmore  rise  up  out  of  some  shadowy 
corner. 

"Boss,  do  you  want  to  know  who  it  was  I  seen 
come  over  old  man  McBride's  shed?  Do  you  want 
to  know  why  Andy  and  Marsh  are  so  set  agin  my 
goin'  home  to  my  old  woman?  Why  they  give  me 
money?  It's  a  pity  I  ain't  a  smarter  man!  I'd  own 
'em,  both  body  and  soul !" 

"Man,  you  are  mad !"  cried  the  judge. 


226     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

But  this  man  who  was  usually  austere  and  always 
unafraid,  was  feeling  a  strange  terror  of  the  debased 
and  slouching  figure  before  him. 

"Do  you  reckon  you're  man  enough  to  hear  what 
I  got  in  me  to  tell  ?"  asked  Montgomery,  again  rais- 
ing his  right  hand  high  above  his  head  as  if  he 
called  on  Heaven  to  witness  the  truth  of  what  he 
said.  "Why  won't  they  let  me  go  home  to  my  old 
woman,  boss?  Why  do  they  keep  me  at  Andy  Gil- 
more's — why  do  they  give  me  money?  Because 
what  I'm  tellin'.you  is  all  a  lie,  I  suppose!  Just  be- 
cause they  like  old  Joe  Montgomery  and  want  him 
'round!  I  don't  think!"  He  threw  back  his  head 
and  laughed  with  rough  sarcasm.  "You're  a  smarter 
man  than  me,  boss;  figure  it  out;  give  a  reason  for 
it!" 

But  the  judge,  white-faced  and  shaken  to  his  very 
soul,  was  silent;  yet  he  guessed  no  part  of  the  ter- 
rible truth  Montgomery  supposed  he  had  made  plain 
to  him.  At  the  most  he  believed  Marshall  was 
shielding  Gilmore  from  the  consequences  of  a  crime 
the  gambler  had  committed. 

Montgomery,  sinister  and  menacing,  shuffled 
across  the  room  and  then  back  to  the  judge's  side. 

"You  ask  Marsh,  boss,  what  it  all  means.  I  got 
nothin'  more  to  say !  Ask  him  who  killed  old  man 
McBride!  If  he  don't  know,  no  man  on  this  green 
earth  does !" 

The  judge's  face  twitched  convulsively,  but  he 
made  no  answer  to  this. 


AT    HIS    OWN    DOOR  227 

"Ask  him !"  repeated  the  handy-man,  and  swing- 
ing awkwardly  on  his  heel  went  from  the  room 
without  a  single  backward  glance. 

An  instant  later  the  street-door  closed  with  a  noisy 
bang. 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

AN    UNWILLING   GUEST 

MONTGOMERY  told  himself  he  would  go 
home;  he  had  seen  the  last  of  the  gambler 
and  Marsh  Langham,  he  would  look  out  for  his  own 
skin  now  and  they  could  look  out  for  theirs.  He 
laughed  boisterously  as  he  strode  along.  He  had 
fooled  them  both ;  he,  Joe  Montgomery,  had  done 
this,  and  by  a  very  master  stroke  of  cunning  had  tied 
the  judge's  hands.  But  as  he  shuffled  down  the 
street  he  saw  the  welcoming  lights  of  Lonigan's 
saloon  and  suddenly  remembered  there  was  good 
hard  money  in  his  ragged  pockets.  He  would  have 
just  one  drink  and  then  go  home  to  his  old  woman. 

It  was  well  on  toward  midnight  when  he  came  out 
on  the  street  again,  and  the  one  drink  had  become 
many  drinks;  still  mindful  of  his  original  purpose, 
however,  he  reeled  across  the  Square  on  his  way 
home.  He  had  just  turned  into  Mulberry  Street 
when  he  became  conscious  of  a  brisk  step  on  the 
pavement  at  his  side,  and  at  the  same  instant  a  heavy 
hand  descended  on  his  shoulder  and  he  found  him- 
self looking  into  Andy  Gilmore's  dark  face. 

228 


AN    UNWILLING    GUEST  229 

"Where  have  you  been?"  demanded  Gilmore.  "I 
thought  I  told  you  to  stay  about  to-night!" 

"I  have  been  down  to  Lonigan's  saloon,"  faltered 
Joe,  his  courage  going  from  him  at  sight  of  the 
gambler. 

"What  took  you  there?"  asked  Gilmore  angrily. 
"Don't  you  get  enough  to  drink  at  my  place?" 

"Lots  to  drink,  boss,  but  it's  mostly  too  rich  for 
my  blood.     I  ain't  used  to  bein'  so  pampered." 

"Come  along  with  me !"  said  Gilmore  briefly. 

"Where  to,  boss?"  asked  Montgomery,  in  feeble 
protest. 

"You'll  know  presently." 

"I  thought  I'd  like  to  go  home,  maybe — "  said 
Joe  irresolutely. 

"Never  mind  what  you  thought  you'd  like,  you 
come  with  me !"  insisted  Gilmore. 

Although  the  handy-man's  first  impulse  had  been 
that  of  revolt,  he  now  followed  the  gambler  meekly 
back  across  the  Square.  They  entered  the  building 
at  the  corner  of  Main  Street  and  mounted  to  Mr. 
Giimore's  rooms.  The  latter  silently  unlocked  the 
door  and  motioned  Montgomery  to  precede  him  into 
the  apartment,  then  he  followed,  pausing  midway  of 
the  room  to  turn  up  the  gas  which  was  burning  low. 
Next  he  divested  himself  of  his  hat  and  coat,  and 
going  to  a  buffet  which  stood  between  the  two  heav- 
ily curtained  windows  that  overlooked  the  Square, 
found  a  decanter  and  glasses.     These  he  brought  to 


23o     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

the  center-table,  where  he  leisurely  poured  his  un- 
willing guest  a  drink. 

"Here,  you  old  sot,  soak  this  up  !"  he  said  genially. 

"Boss,  I  want  to  go  home  to  my  old  woman!"  be- 
gan the  handy-man,  after  he  had  emptied  his  glass. 

"Your  old  woman  will  keep!"  retorted  Gilmore 
shortly. 

"But,  boss,  I  got  to  go  to  her;  the  judge  says  I 
must!  She's  been  there  to  see  him;  damn  it,  she 
cried  and  hollered  and  took  on  awful  because  she 
ain't  seein'  me;  it  was  pitiful!" 

"What's  that?"  demanded  Gilmore  sharply. 

"It  was  pitiful !"  repeated  Montgomery,  shaking 
his  great  head  dolorously. 

"Oh,  cut  that!   Who  have  you  seen?" 

"Judge  Langham." 

"When  did  you  see  him?" 

Mr.  Gilmore  spoke  with  a  forced  calm. 

"To-night.     My  old  woman — " 

"Oh,  to  hell  with  your  old  woman !"  shouted  the 
gambler  furiously.  "Do  you  mean  that  you  were  at 
Judge  Langham's  to-night?" 

"Yes,  boss ;  he  sent  for  me,  see  ?  I  had  to  go  !"  ex- 
plained Montgomery. 

"Why  did  you  go  there  without  letting  me  know, 
you  drunken  loafer?"  stormed  Gilmore. 

He  took  the  handy-man  by  the  arm  and  pushed 
him  into  a  chair,  then  he  stood  above  him,  black- 
browed  and  menacing. 

"Boss,  don't  you  blame  me,  it  was  my  old  woman; 


AN    UNWILLING    GUEST  231 

she  wants  me  home  with  the  kids  and  her,  and  the 
judge,  he  says  I  got  to  go !" 

"If  he  wants  to  know  why  I'm  keeping  you  here, 
send  him  round  to  me!"  said  Gilmore. 

"All  right,  I  will."  And  Montgomery  staggered 
to  his  feet. 

But  Gilmore  pushed  him  back  into  his  chair. 

"What  else  did  you  talk  about  besides  your  old 
woman?"  asked  the  gambler,  after  an  oppressive 
silence  in  which  Montgomery  heard  only  the  thump 
of  his  heart  against  his  ribs. 

"I  told  him  you'd  always  been  like  a  father  to 
me — "  said  the  handy-man,  ready  to  weep. 

"I'm  obliged  to  you  for  that!"  replied  Gilmore 
with  a  smile  of  grim  humor. 

"He  said  he  always  knowed  it,"  added  Montgom- 
ery, misled  by  the  smile. 

"Well,  what  else?"  questioned  Gilmore. 

"Why,  I  reckon  that  was  about  all !"  said  Joe,  who 
had  ventured  as  far  afield  into  the  realms  of  fancy 
as  his  drunken  faculties  would  allow. 

"You're  sure  about  that?" 

"I  hope  I  may  die — " 

"And  the  judge  says  you're  to  go  home?" 

"Say,  Shrimp  took  my  old  woman  there,  and  she 
cried  and  bellered  and  carried  on  awful !  She  loves 
me,  boss — the  judge  says  I'm  to  go  home  to  her  to- 
night or  he'll  have  me  pinched.  He  says  that  you 
and  Marsh  ain't  to  keep  me  here  no  longer !" 

His  voice  rose  into  a  wail,  for  blind  terror  was 


232      THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

laying  hold  of  him.  There  was  something,  a  look 
on  Gilmore's  handsome  cruel  face,  he  did  not  un- 
derstand but  which  filled  him  with  miserable  fore- 
boding. 

' 'What's  that,  about  Marsh  and  me  keeping  you 
here?"  inquired  Gilmore. 

"You  got  to  leave  me  loose — " 

"So  you  told  him  that?" 

"I  had  to  tell  him  somethin'.  My  old  woman 
made  an  awful  fuss!  They  had  to  throw  water  on 
her;  Shrimp  took  her  home  in  an  express-wagon. 
Hell,  boss,  I'm  a  married  man — I  got  a  family !  I 
know  what  I  ought  to  do,  and  I'm  goin'  home,  the 
judge  says  I  got  to !  Him  and  me  talked  it  all  over, 
and  he's  goin'  to  speak  to  Marsh  about  keepin'  me 
here!" 

"So  you've  told  him  we  keep  you  here?"  And  the 
gambler  glowered  at  him.  He  poured  himself  a 
drink  of  whisky  and  swallowed  it  at  a  gulp.  "Well, 
what  else  did  you  tell  him  ?"  he  asked  over  the  rim 
of  his  glass. 

"That's  about  all;  only  me  and  the  judge  under- 
stand each  other,"  said  the  handy-man  vaguely. 

"Well,  it  was  enough !"  rejoined  Gilmore.  "You 
are  sure  you  didn't  say  anything  about  North?" 

Montgomery  shook  his  head  in  vigorous  denial. 

"Sure?"  repeated  Gilmore,  his  glance  intent  and 
piercing.     "Sure?" 

A  sickly  pallor  was  overspreading  the  handy- 
man's flame-colored  visage.     It  began  at  his  heavy 


AN    UNWILLING    GUEST  233 

puffy  jaws,  and  diffused  itself  about  his  cheeks.  He 
could  feel  it  spread. 

"Sure?"  said  the  gambler.    "Sure?" 

There  was  an  awful  pause.  Gilmore  carefully  re- 
placed his  glass  on  the  table,  then  he  roared  in  a 
voice  of  thunder: 

"Stand  up,  you  hound!" 

Montgomery  realized  that  the  consequences  of  his 
treachery  were  to  be  swift  and  terrible.  He  came 
slowly  to  his  feet,  but  no  sooner  had  he  gained  them 
than  Gilmore  drove  his  fist  into  his  face,  and  he  col- 
lapsed on  his  chair. 

"Stand  up !"  roared  Gilmore  again. 

And  again  Montgomery  came  erect  only  to  be 
knocked  back  into  a  sitting  posture,  with  a  long  gash 
across  his  jaw  where  the  gambler's  diamond  ring 
had  left  its  mark. 

"I  tell  you,  stand  up !"  cried  Gilmore. 

Reaching  forward  he  seized  Montgomery  by  the 
throat  with  his  left  hand  and  jerked  him  to  his  feet, 
then  holding  him  so,  he  coolly  battered  his  face 
with  his  free  hand. 

"For  God's  sake,  quit,  boss — you're  killin'  me!" 
cried  Joe,  as  he  vainly  sought  to  protect  his  face 
with  his  arms. 

But  Mr.  Gilmore  had  a  primitive  prejudice  in 
favor  of  brute  force,  and  the  cruel  blows  continued 
until  Montgomery  seemed  to  lose  power  even  to  at- 
tempt to  shield  himself;  his  great  hands  hung  help- 
less at  his  side  and  his  head  fell  over  on  his  shoul- 


234     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

der.  Seeing  which  the  gambler  released  his  victim, 
who,  limp  and  quivering,  dropped  to  the  floor. 

Still  crazed  with  rage,  Gilmore  kicked  the  handy- 
man into  a  corner,  and  turning  poured  himself  still 
another  drink  of  whisky.  If  he  had  spoken  then  of 
what  was  uppermost  in  his  mind,  it  would  have  been 
to  complain  of  the  rotten  luck  which  in  so  ticklish  a 
business  had  furnished  him  with  fools  and  sots  for 
associates.  He  should  have  known  better  than  to 
have  trusted  drunken  Joe  Montgomery;  he  should 
have  kept  out  of  the  whole  business — 

With  the  suddenness  of  revelation  he  realized  his 
own  predicament,  but  with  the  realization  came  the 
knowledge  that  he  was  now  hopelessly  involved; 
that  he  could  not  go  back ;  that  he  must  go  on,  or — 
here  he  threw  back  his  shoulders  as  though  to  cast 
off  his  evil  forebodings — or  between  the  dusk  of  one 
day  and  the  dawn  of  another,  he  might  disappear 
from  Mount  Hope. 

With  this  cheering  possibility  in  mind,  he  picked 
up  the  glass  of  whisky  beside  him  and  emptied  it  at  a 
single  draught,  then  he  put  on  his  overcoat  and  hat 
and  went  from  the  room,  locking  the  door  behind 
him. 

Presently  the  wretched  heap  on  the  floor  stirred 
and  moaned  feebly,  and  then  lay  still.  A  little  later 
it  moaned  again.  Lifting  his  head  he  stared  va- 
cantly about  him. 

"Boss — "  he  began  in  a  tone  of  entreaty,  but  real- 


AN    UNWILLING    GUEST  235 

izing  that  he  was  alone  he  fell  weakly  to  cursing 
Gilmore. 

It  was  a  good  five  minutes  from  the  time  he  re- 
covered consciousness  until  he  was  able  to  assume 
a  sitting  posture,  when  he  rested  his  battered  face 
in  his  hands  and  nursed  his  bruises. 

"And  me  his  cousin!"  he  muttered,  and  groaned 
again. 

He  feebly  wiped  his  bloody  hands  on  the  legs  of 
his  trousers  and  by  an  effort  staggered  to  his  feet. 
His  only  idea  was  escape;  and  steadying  himself  he 
managed  to  reach  the  door;  but  the  door  was 
locked,  and  he  flung  himself  down  in  a  convenient 
chair  and  once  more  fell  to  nursing  his  wounds. 

Fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  had  passed  when  he 
heard  steps  in  the  hallway.  He  knew  it  was  Gil- 
more  returning,  but  the  gambler  was  not  alone; 
Montgomery  heard  him  speak  to  his  companion  as 
a  key  was  fitted  to  the  lock.  The  door  swung  open 
and  Gilmore,  followed  by  Marshall  Langham,  en- 
tered the  room. 

"Here's  the  drunken  hound,  Marsh !"  said  the 
gambler. 

"For  God's  sake,  boss,  let  me  out  of  this!"  cried 
Montgomery,  addressing  himself  to  Langham. 

"Yes,  we  will — like  hell!"  said  Gilmore.  "By 
rights  we  ought  to  take  you  down  to  the  creek,  knock 
you  in  the  head  and  heave  you  in — eh,  Marsh? 
That's  about  the  size  of  what  we  ought  to  do !" 


236     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

Langham's  face  was  white  and  drawn  with  ap- 
prehension, yet  he  surveyed  the  ruin  the  gambler 
had  wrought  with  something  like  pity. 

"Why,  what's  happened  to  him,  Andy?"  he  asked. 

His  companion  laughed  brutally. 

"Oh,  I  punched  him  up  some,  I  couldn't  keep  my 
hands  off  him,  I  only  wonder  I  didn't  kill  him — " 

"Let  me  out  of  this,  boss — "  whined  the  handy- 
man. 

"Shut  up,  you !"  said  the  gambler  roughly. 

He  drew  back  his  hand,  but  Langham  caught  his 
arm. 

"Don't  do  that,  Andy!"  he  said.  "He  isn't  in  any 
shape  to  stand  much  more  of  that;  and  what's  the 
use,  the  harm's  done!" 

The  gambler  scowled  on  his  cousin  Joe  with 
moody  resentment. 

"All  the  same  I've  got  a  good  notion  to  finish 
the  job  !"  he  said. 

"Let  me  go  home,  boss !"  entreated  Montgomery, 
still  addressing  himself  to  Langham.  "God's  sake, 
he  pretty  near  killed  me!" 

He  stood  up  on  shaking  legs. 

Wretched,  abject,  his  uneasy  glance  shifted  first 
from  one  to  the  other  of  his  patrons,  who  were  now 
his  judges,  and  for  aught  he  knew  would  be  his  exe- 
cutioners as  well.  The  gambler  glared  back  at  him 
with  an  expression  of  set  ferocity  which  told  him  he 
need  expect  no  mercy  from  that  source;  but  with 


AN    UNWILLING    GUEST  237 

Langham  it  was  different ;  he  at  least  was  not  wan- 
tonly brutal.  The  sight  of  physical  suffering  always 
distressed  him  and  Joe's  bruised  and  bloody  face 
was  more  than  he  could  bear  to  look  at. 

"For  two  cents  I'd  knock  him  on  the  head!" 
jerked  out  Gilmore. 

"Oh,  quit,  Andy;  let  him  alone!  I  want  to  ask 
him  a  question  or  two,"  said  Langham. 

"You'll  never  know  from  him  what  he  said  or 
didn't  say — you'll  learn  that  from  the  judge  him- 
self," and  Gilmore  laughed  harshly. 

A  minute  or  two  passed  before  Langham  could 
trust  himself  to  speak.  When  he  did,  he  turned  to 
Montgomery  to  ask : 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  me  as  nearly  as  you  can  what 
you  said  to  my  father?" 

"I  didn't  go  there  to  tell  him  anything,  boss;  he 
just  got  it  out  of  me.  What  chance  has  a  slob  like 
me  with  him?" 

"Got  what  out  of  you?"  questioned  Langham  in 
a  low  voice. 

"Well,  he  didn't  get  much,  boss,"  replied  Mont- 
gomery, shaking  his  head. 

"But  what  did  you  tell  him?"  insisted  Langham. 

"I  don't  remember,  boss,  I  was  full,  see — and 
maybe  I  said  too  much  and  then  agin  maybe  I 
didn't!" 

"I  hope  you  like  this,  Marsh ;  it's  the  sort  of  thing 
I  been  up  against,"  said  Gilmore. 


238     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

By  way  of  answer  Langham  made  a  weary  ges- 
ture. The  horror  of  the  situation  was  now  a  thing 
beyond  fear. 

"I'm  for  sending  the  drunken  loafer  to  the  other 
side  of  the  continent,"  said  Gilmore. 

"What's  the  use  of  that?"  asked  Langham  dully. 

"Every  use,"  rejoined  Gilmore  with  fresh  confi- 
dence. "It's  enough,  ain't  it,  that  he's  talked  to  your 
father;  we  can't  take  chances  on  his  talking  to  any 
one  else.  There's  the  west-bound  express;  I'm  for 
putting  him  on  that — there's  time  enough.  We  can 
give  him  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars  and  that  will 
be  the  end  of  him,  for  if  he  ever  shows  his  face  here 
in  Mount  Hope,  I'll  break  every  bone  in  his  body. 
What  do  you  say?" 

"Perhaps  you  are  right!"  And  Langham  glanced 
uncertainly  at  the  handy-man. 

"Well,  it's  either  that,  or  else  I  can  knock  him 
over  the  head.  Perhaps  you  had  rather  do  that, 
it's  more  in  your  line." 

"Boss,  you  give  me  the  money  and  let  me  go  now, 
and  I  won't  ever  come  back!"  cried  Montgomery 
eagerly.  "I  been  lookin'  for  the  chance  to  get  clear 
of  this  bum  town !  I'll  stay  away,  don't  you  lose 
no  sleep  about  that;  I  ain't  got  nothin'  to  ever  bring 
me  back." 

And  on  the  moment  Mr.  Montgomery  banished 
from  his  mind  and  heart  all  idea  of  the  pure  joys 
of  domestic  life.  It  was  as  if  his  old  woman  had 
never  been.     He  was  sure  travel  was  what  he  re- 


AN    UNWILLING    GUEST  239 

quired,  and  a  great  deal  of  it,  and  all  in  one  direc- 
tion— away  from  Mount  Hope. 

No  unnecessary  time  was  wasted  on  Montgom- 
ery's appearance.  A  wet  towel  in  the  not  too  gentle 
hands  of  Mr.  Gilmore  removed  the  blood  stains 
from  his  face,  and  then  he  was  led  forth  into  the 
night, — the  night  which  so  completely  swallowed  up 
all  trace  of  him  that  his  old  woman  and  her  brood 
sought  his  accustomed  haunts  in  vain.  Nor  was 
Mr.  Moxlow  any  more  successful  in  his  efforts  to 
discover  the  handy-man's  whereabouts.  As  for 
Mount  Hope  she  saw  in  the  mysterious  disappear- 
ance of  the  star  witness  only  the  devious  activities 
of  John  North's  friends. 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

FATHER   AND   SON 

WHILE  Mr.  Gilmore  was  an  exceedingly  ca- 
pable accomplice,  at  once  resourceful,  ener- 
getic, unsentimental  and  conscienceless,  he  yet  com- 
bined with  these  solid  merits,  certain  characteristics 
which  rendered  uninterrupted  intercourse  with  him 
a  horror  and  a  shame  to  Marshall  Langham  who  was 
daily  and  almost  hourlypaying  the  price  the  gambler 
had  set  on  his  silence.  And  what  a  price  it  was! 
Gilmore  was  his  master,  coarse,  brutal,  and  fiercely 
exacting.  How  he  hated  him,  and  yet  how  necessary 
he  had  become;  for  the  gambler  never  faltered,  was 
never  uncertain;  he  met  each  difficulty  with  a  cal- 
lous readiness  which  Langham  knew  he  himself 
would  utterly  have  lacked.  He  decided  this  was 
because  Gilmore  was  without  imagination,  since  in 
his  own  many  fearful,  doubting  moments,  he  saw 
always  what  he  had  come  to  believe  as  the  inevitable 
time  when  the  wicked  fabric  they  were  building 
would  collapse  like  a  house  of  cards  in  a  gale  of 
wind,  and  his  terrible  secret  would  be  revealed  to 
all  men. 

All  this   while,  step  by  step,   Gilmore,   without 
240 


FATHER   AND    SON  241 

haste  but  without  pause,  was  moving  toward  his  de- 
sires. He  came  and  went  in  the  Langham  house  as 
if  he  were  master  there. 

When  Marshall  had  first  informed  Evelyn  that 
he  expected  to  have  Mr.  Gilmore  in  to  dinner,  there 
had  been  a  scene,  and  she  had  threatened  to  appeal 
to  the  judge;  but  he  told  her  fiercely  that  he  would 
bring  home  whom  he  pleased,  that  it  suited  him  to 
be  decent  to  Andy  and  that  was  all  there  was  to  it. 
And  apparently  she  soon  found  something  to  like  in 
this  strange  intimate  of  her  husband's;  at  least  she 
had  made  no  protest  after  the  gambler's  first  visit  to 
the  house. 

On  his  part  Gilmore  was  quickly  conscious  of  the 
subtle  encouragement  she  extended  him.  She  un- 
derstood him,  she  saw  into  his  soul,  she  divined  his 
passion  for  her  and  she  was  not  shocked  by  it.  In 
his  unholy  musings  he  told  himself  that  here  was  a 
woman  who  was  dead  game — and  a  lady,  too,  with 
all  the  pretty  ways  and  refinements  that  were  so 
lacking  in  the  other  women  he  had  known. 

Montgomery  was  some  two  days  gone  toward  the 
West  and  Gilmore  had  dropped  around  ostensibly 
to  see  Marshall  Langham,  but  in  reality  to  make 
love  to  Marshall  Langham's  wife,  when  the  judge, 
looking  gray  and  old,  walked  in  on  the  little  group 
unobserved.  He  paused  for  an  instant  near  the 
door. 

Evelyn  was  seated  before  the  piano  and  Gilmore 
was  bending  above  her,  while  Marshall,  with  an  un- 


242     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

read  book  in  his  hands  and  with  a  half-smoked  cigar 
between  his  teeth,  was  lounging  in  front  of  the  fire. 
The  judge's  glance  rested  questioningly  on  Gilmore, 
but  only  for  a  moment.  Then  an  angry  flame  of 
recognition  colored  his  thin  cheeks. 

Aware  now  of  his  father's  presence,  Marshall 
tossed  aside  his  book  and  quitted  his  chair.  For 
two  days  he  had  been  dreading  this  meeting,  and  for 
two  days  he  had  done  what  he  could  to  avert  it. 

"You  must  have  had  a  rather  cold  walk,  father; 
let  me  draw  a  chair  up  close  to  the  fire  for  you,"  he 
said. 

Evelyn  had  risen  to  greet  the  judge,  while  the 
gambler  turned  to  give  him  an  easy  nod.  A  smile 
hid  itself  in  the  shadow  of  his  black  mustache;  he 
was  feeling  very  sure  of  himself  and  surer  still  of 
Evelyn.  The  disfavor  or  approval  of  this  slight 
man  of  sixty  meant  nothing  to  him. 

"How  do  you  do,  sir!"  said  the  judge  with  icy 
civility. 

Had  he  met  Gilmore  on  the  street  he  would  not 
have  spoken  to  him.  As  he  slowly  withdrew  his 
eyes  from  the  gambler,  he  said  to  his  son : 

"Can  you  spare  me  a  moment  or  two,  Marshall?" 

"Come  into  the  library,"  and  Marshall  led  the 
way  from  the  room. 

They  walked  the  length  of  the  hall  in  silence, 
Marshall  a  step  or  two  in  advance  of  the  judge.  He 
knew  his  father  was  there  on  no  trivial  errand. 
This  visit  was  the  result  of  his  interview  with  Joe 


FATHER    AND    SON  243 

Montgomery.  How  much  had  the  handy-man  told 
him  ?  This  was  the  question  that  had  been  revolving 
in  his  mind  for  the  last  two  days,  and  he  was  about 
to  find  an  answer  to  it. 

The  father  and  son  entered  the  room,  each  heav- 
ily preoccupied.  Marshall  seated  himself  and  stared 
moodily  into  the  fire.  Already  the  judge  had  found 
a  chair  and  his  glance  was  fixed  on  the  carpet  at  his 
feet.     Presently  looking  up  he  asked : 

"Will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  me  what  that 
fellow  is  doing  here?" 

"Andy?" 

The  single  word  came  from  Langham  as  with  a 
weary  acceptance  of  his  father's  anger. 

"Yes,  certainly — Gilmore — of  whom  do  you  im- 
agine me  to  be  speaking?" 

"Give  a  dog  a  bad  name — " 

"He  has  earned  his  name.  I  had  heard  some- 
thing of  this  but  did  not  credit  it!"  said  the  judge. 

There  was  another  pause. 

"Perhaps  you  will  be  good  enough  to  explain  how 
I  happen  to  meet  that  fellow  here?" 

The  judge  regarded  his  son  fixedly.  There  had  al- 
ways existed  a  cordial  frankness  in  their  intercourse, 
for  though  the  judge  was  a  man  of  few  intimacies, 
family  ties  meant  much  to  him,  and  these  ties  were 
now  all  centered  in  his  son.  He  had  shown  infinite 
patience  with  Marshall's  turbulent  youth;  an  even 
greater  patience  with  his  dissipated  manhood;  he 
believed  that  in  spite  of  the  terrible  drafts  he  was 


244     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

making  on  his  energies,  his  future  would  not  be 
lacking  in  solid  and  worthy  achievement.  In  his 
own  case  the  traditional  vice  of  the  Langhams  had 
passed  him  by.  He  was  grateful  for  this,  but  it 
had  never  provoked  in  him  any  spirit  of  self-right- 
eousness; indeed,  it  had  only  made  him  the  more 
tender  in  his  judgment  of  his  son's  lapses. 

"Marshall — "  and  the  tone  of  anger  had  quite 
faded  from  his  voice — "Marshall,  what  is  that  fel- 
low's hold  on  you?" 

"You  would  not  appreciate  Andy's  peculiar  vir- 
tues even  if  I  were  to  try  to  describe  them,"  said 
Marshall  with  a  smile  of  sardonic  humor. 

"Do  you  consider  him  the  right  sort  of  a  person  to 
bring  into  your  home?" 

"It  won't  hurt  him!"  said  Marshall. 

The  judge,  with  a  look  on  his  face  that  mingled 
astonishment  and  injury,  sank  back  in  his  chair.  He 
never  attempted  anything  that  even  faintly  sug- 
gested flippancy,  and  he  was  unappreciative  of  this 
tendency  in  others. 

"You  have  not  told  me  what  this  fellow's  hold  on 
you  is?"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  silence. 

"Oh,  he's  done  me  one  or  two  good  turns." 

"You  mean  in  the  way  of  money?" 

Marshall  nodded. 

"Are  you  in  his  debt  now,  may  I  ask?" 

"No,"  and  Marshall  moved  restlessly. 

"Are  you  quite  frank  with  me,  Marshall?"  asked 


FATHER    AND    SON  245 

the  judge  with  that  rare  gentleness  of  voice  and 
manner  that  only  his  son  knew. 

"Quite." 

"Because  it  would  be  better  to  make  every  sacri- 
fice and  be  rid  of  the  obligation." 

Another  long  pause  followed  in  which  there  came 
to  the  ears  of  the  two  men  the  sound  of  a  noisy  waltz 
that  Evelyn  was  playing.  Again  it  was  the  judge 
who  broke  the  oppressive  silence. 

"I  came  here  to-night,  Marshall,  because  there  is 
a  matter  I  must  discuss  with  you.  Perhaps  you  will 
tell  me  what  you  and  Gilmore  have  done  with  Joe 
Montgomery  ?" 

Marshall  had  sought  to  prepare  himself  against 
the  time  when  this  very  question  should  be  asked 
him,  but  the  color  left  his  cheeks. 

"I  don't  think  I  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said 
slowly. 

His  father  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"Don't  tell  me  that!  What  has  become  of  Mont- 
gomery ?  Look  at  me !  Two  nights  ago  he  came  to 
see  me;  I  had  sent  for  him;  I  had  learned  from 
Nellie  that  he  had  practically  deserted  her.  I 
learned  further  from  the  man  himself  that  you  and 
Gilmore  were  largely  responsible  for  this." 

"He  was  drunk,  of  course." 

"He  had  been  drinking — yes — " 

"Doesn't  that  explain  his  remarkable  statement? 
What  reason  could  Andy  or  any  one  have  for  wish- 


246     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

ing  to  keep  him  from  his  wife?"  asked  Marshall, 
who  had  recovered  his  accustomed  steadiness. 

"He  was  ready  with  an  answer  for  that  question 
when  I  asked  it.  Do  you  wish  to  know  what  that 
answer  was?"  said  the  judge. 

Marshall  did  not  trust  himself  to  speak;  he  felt 
the  judge's  eyes  on  him  and  could  not  meet  them. 
He  saw  himself  cowering  there  in  his  chair  with  his 
guilt  stamped  large  on  every  feature.  His  throat 
was  dry  and  his  lips  were  parched,  he  did  not  know 
whether  he  could  speak.  His  shoulders  drooped 
and  his  chin  rested  on  his  breast.  What  was  the  use 
— was  it  worth  the  struggle?  Suppose  Montgomery, 
in  spite  of  his  promises,  came  back  to  Mount  Hope, 
suppose  Gilmore's  iron  nerve  failed  him ! 

"You  don't  answer  me,  Marshall,"  said  the  judge. 

"I  don't  understand  you — "  evaded  Marshall. 

"From  my  soul  I  wish  I  could  believe  you !"  ex- 
claimed his  father.  "If  it's  not  debt,  what  is  the 
nature  of  your  discreditable  connection  with  Gil- 
more?" 

Marshall  glanced  up  quickly;  he  seemed  to 
breathe  again ;  perhaps  after  all  Montgomery  had 
said  less  than  he  supposed  him  to  have  said ! 

"I  have  already  told  you  that  I  owe  Gilmore  noth- 
ing!" 

"I  should  be  glad  to  think  it,  but  I  warn  you  to 
stand  clear  of  him  and  his  concerns,  for  I  am  going 
to  investigate  the  truth  of  Montgomery's  story,"  de- 
clared the  judge. 


FATHER   AND    SON  247 

"What  did  he  tell  you?"  Marshall  spoke  with  an 
effort. 

'That  his  evidence  in  the  North  case  was  false, 
that  it  was  inspired  by  Gilmore." 

Marshall  passed  a  shaking  hand  across  his  face. 

"Nonsense!"  he  said. 

"His  story  will  be  worth  looking  into.  He  stood 
for  the  truth  of  what  he  said  in  part,  he  insisted  that 
he  saw  a  man  cross  McBride's  shed  on  the  night  of 
the  murder  and  drop  into  the  alley,  and  the  man 
was  not  John  North.  He  seemed  unwilling  that 
North,  through  any  instrumentality  of  his,  should 
suffer  for  a  crime  of  which  he  was  innocent;  his 
feeling  on  this  point  was  unfeigned  and  unmistak- 
able." 

There  was  silence  again,  while  the  two  men  stared 
at  each  other.  From  the  parlor  the  jarring  sound 
of  the  music  reached  them,  inconceivably  out  of  har- 
mony with  the  seriousness  of  their  mood. 

"I  have  wished  to  take  no  action  in  the  matter  of 
Montgomery's  disappearance  until  I  saw  you,  Mar- 
shall," said  the  judge.  "I  have  been  sick  with  this 
thing!  Now  I  am  going  to  lay  such  facts  as  I  have 
before  Moxlow." 

Marshall  stared  moodily  into  the  fire.  He  told 
himself  that  the  prosecuting  attorney  would  be  in 
great  luck  if  he  got  anything  out  of  Gilmore. 

"I  purpose  to  suggest  to  Moxlow  a  fresh  line  of 
investigation  where  this  important  witness  is  con- 
cerned, and  Mr.  Gilmore  as  the  man  most  likely  to 


248     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

clear  up  the  mystery  surrounding  his  disappearance 
from  Mount  Hope.  We  may  not  be  able  to  get  any- 
thing very  tangible  out  of  him  in  the  way  of  in- 
formation, but  I  imagine  we  may  cause  him  some 
little  anxiety  and  annoyance.  You  can't  afford  to  be 
mixed  up  in  this  affair,  and  I  warn  you  again  to 
stand  clear  of  Gilmore!  If  there  is  any  truth  in 
Montgomery's  statement  it  can  only  have  the  most 
sinister  significance,  for  I  don't  need  to  tell  you  that 
some  powerful  motive  must  be  back  of  Gilmore's 
activity.  If  North  was  not  responsible  for  Mc- 
Bride's  death,  where  do  the  indications  all  point? 
Who  more  likely  to  commit  such  a  crime  than  a 
social  outcast — a  man  plying  an  illegal  trade  in 
defiance  of  the  laws?" 

"Hush!  For  God's  sake  speak  lower!"  cried 
Marshall,  giving  way  to  an  uncontrollable  emotion 
of  terror. 

Racked  and  shaken,  he  stared  about  him  as  if  he 
feared  another  presence  in  the  room.  The  judge 
leaned  forward  and  rested  a  thin  hand  on  his  son's 
knee. 

"Marshall,  what  do  you  know  of  Gilmore's  con- 
nection with  this  matter?" 

"I  want  him  let  alone!  To  lay  such  stress  on 
Montgomery's  drunken  talk  is  absurd !" 

The  judge's  lips  met  in  a  determined  line. 

"I  scarcely  expected  to  hear  that  from  you!  I 
am  not  likely,  as  you  know,  to  be  influenced  in  the 
discharge  of  my  duty  by  any  private  consideration." 


FATHER   AND    SON  249 

He  quitted  his  chair  and  stood  erect,  his  figure 
drawn  to  its  fullest  height. 

"Wait — I  didn't  mean  that,"  protested  Marshall. 

The  judge  resumed  his  chair. 

"What  did  you  mean?"  he  asked. 

"What's  the  use  of  throwing  Moxlow  off  on  a 
fresh  scent?" 

"That's  a  very  remarkable  point  of  view!"  said 
the  judge,  with  a  mirthless  laugh. 

In  the  utter  selfishness  that  his  fear  had  engen- 
dered, it  seemed  a  monstrous  thing  to  Langham 
that  any  one  should  wish  to  clear  North,  in  whose 
conviction  lay  his  own  salvation.  More  than  this, 
he  had  every  reason  to  hate  North,  and  if  he  were 
hanged  it  would  be  but  a  roundabout  meting  out  of 
justice  for  that  hideous  wrong  he  had  done  him, 
the  shame  of  which  was  ever  present.  He  saw  one 
other  thing  clearly,  the  necessity  that  Gilmore 
should  be  left  alone ;  for  the  very  moment  the  gam- 
bler felt  the  judge  was  moving  against  him,  that 
moment  would  come  his  fierce  demands  that  he  be 
called  off — that  Marshall  quiet  him,  no  matter  how. 

"Have  you  been  near  North  since  his  arrest?" 
asked  the  judge,  apparently  speaking  at  random. 

"No,"  said  Marshall. 

"May  I  ask  if  you  are  offended  because  of  his 
choice  of  counsel?" 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it!"  said  the 
younger  man,  moving  impatiently  in  his  chair. 

"I  do  not  like  your  attitude  in  this  matter,  Mar- 


250     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

shall;  I  like  it  as  little  as  I  understand  it.  But  I 
have  given  my  warning.  Keep  clear  of  that  fellow 
Gilmore,  do  not  involve  yourself  in  his  fortunes,  or 
the  result  may  prove  disastrous  to  you  I" 

"I  want  him  let  alone !"  said  Marshall  doggedly, 
speaking  with  desperate  resolution. 

"Why  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

"Because  it  is  better  for  all  concerned;  you — you 
don't  know  what  you're  meddling  with — " 

He  quitted  his  chair  and  fell  to  pacing  to  and  fro. 
His  father's  glance,  uncertain  and  uneasy,  followed 
him  as  he  crossed  and  recrossed  the  room. 

"I  find  I  can  not  agree  with  you,  Marshall !"  said 
the  judge  at  length.  "I  do  not  like  hints,  and  unless 
you  can  deal  with  me  with  greater  frankness  than 
you  have  yet  done,  there  is  not  much  use  in  prolong- 
ing this  discussion." 

"As  you  like,  then,"  replied  Marshall,  wheeling 
on  him  with  sudden  recklessness.  "I  want  to  tell 
you  just  this — you'll  not  hurt  Gilmore,  but — " 

Words  failed  him,  and  his  voice  died  away  on 
his  white  and  twitching  lips  into  an  inarticulate 
murmur. 

He  struggled  vainly  to  recover  the  mastery  of 
himself,  but  his  fear,  now  the  growth  of  his  many 
days  and  nights  of  torture,  would  not  let  him  finish 
what  he  had  started  to  say. 

"Very  good,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  anybody,  but  I 
do  want  to  find  that  man,  whoever  he  is,  that  you 
and  Gilmore  are  shielding;  the  man  Joe  Montgom- 


FATHER    AND    SON  251 

ery  saw  cross  those  sheds  the  night  of  the  murder; 
I  am  going  to  bend  my  every  energy  to  learning 
who  that  man  is,  and  when  I  have  discovered  his 
identity — " 

"You'll  want  to  see  him  in  North's  place,  will 
you?" asked  Marshall.  The  words  came  from  him  in 
a  hoarse  whisper  and  his  arm  was  extended  threat- 
eningly toward  his  father.  "You're  sure  about  that? 
You  can't  conceive  of  the  possibility  that  you'd  be 
glad  not  to  know?  You  want  to  have  John  North 
out  of  his  cell  and  this  other  man  there  in  his  place ; 
you  want  to  face  him  day  after  day  in  the  court 
room — you're  sure?"  His  shaking  arm  continued 
to  menace  the  judge.  "Well,  you  don't  need  to  find 
Montgomery,  and  you  don't  need  to  hound  Gilmore  ; 
I  can  tell  you  more  than  they  can — " 

His  bloodshot  eyes,  fixed  and  staring,  seemed 
starting  from  their  sockets. 

"The  facts  you  want  to  know  are  hidden  here!" 
He  struck  his  hand  savagely  against  his  breast  and 
lurched  half-way  across  the  room,  then  he  swung 
about  and  once  more  faced  the  judge.  "Why 
haven't  you  had  the  wisdom  to  keep  out  of  this, — 
or  have  you  expected  to  find  some  one  it  would  be 
easier  to  pronounce  sentence  on  than  North?  Did 
you  think  it  would  be  Gilmore?" 

He  scowled  down  on  his  father.  It  was  appalling 
and  unnatural,  after  all  his  frightful  suffering,  his 
fear,  and  his  remorse  which  never  left  him,  that  his 
safety  should  be  jeopardized  by  his  own  father!   He 


252      THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

had  only  asked  that  the  law  be  left  to  deal  with 
John  North,  who,  he  believed,  had  so  wronged  him 
that  no  death  he  could  die  would  atone  for  the  in- 
jury he  had  done. 

Slowly  but  inexorably  the  full  significance  of 
Marshall's  words  dawned  on  the  judge.  He  had 
risen  from  his  chair  dumb  and  terror-stricken.  For 
a  moment  they  stood  without  speech,  each  staring 
into  the  other's  face.  Presently  the  judge  stole  to 
Marshall's  side. 

"Tell  me  that  I  misunderstand  you !"  he  whis- 
pered in  entreaty,  resting  a  tremulous  hand  on  his 
son's  arm. 

But  the  latter  was  bitterly  resentful.  His  father 
had  forced  this  confession  from  him,  he  had  given 
him  no  choice! 

"Why  should  I  tell  you  that  now?"  he  asked,  as 
he  roughly  shook  off  his  father's  hand. 

"Tell  me  I  misunderstand  you !"  repeated  the 
judge,  in  a  tone  of  abject  entreaty. 

"It's  too  late!"  said  Marshall,  his  voice  a  mere 
whisper  between  parched  lips.  He  tossed  up  his 
arms  in  a  gesture  that  betokened  his  utter  weariness 
of  soul.  "My  God,  how  I've  suffered!"  he  said 
chokingly,  and  his  eyes  were  wet  with  the  sudden 
anguish  of  self-pity. 

"Marshall!" 

The  judge  spoke  in  protest  of  his  words. 

Marshall  turned  abruptly  from  him  and  crossed 
the  room.    The  spirit  of  his  fierce  resentment  was 


FATHER    AND    SON  253 

dying  within  him,  for,  after  all,  what  did  it  signify 
how  his  father  learned  his  secret ! 

From  the  parlor  there  still  came  the  strains  of 
light  music;  these  and  Marshall's  echoing  tread  as 
he  strode  to  and  fro,  filled  in  the  ghastly  silence  that 
succeeded.  Then  at  length  he  paused  before  his 
father,  and  once  more  they  looked  deep  into  each 
other's  eyes,  and  the  little  space  between  was  for 
both  as  an  open  grave  filled  with  dead  things — 
hopes,  ambitions,  future  days  and  months  and  years 
— days  and  months  and  years  when  they  should  be 
for  ever  mindful  of  his  crime!  For  henceforth 
they  were  to  dwellin  the  chill  of  this  direful  shadow 
that  would  tower  above  all  the  concerns  of  life 
whether  great  or  small;  that  would  add  despair  to 
every  sorrow,  and  take  the  very  soul  and  substance 
from  every  joy. 

The  judge  dropped  into  his  chair,  but  his  waver- 
ing glance  still  searched  his  son's  face  for  some  sign 
that  should  tell  him,  not  what  he  already  knew  but 
what  he  hoped  might  be, — that  Marshall  was  either 
drunk  or  crazed;  but  he  only  saw  there  the  reflection 
of  his  own  terror.  He  buried  his  head  in  his  hands 
and  bitter  age-worn  sobs  shook  his  bent  shoulders. 

After  a  moment  of  sullen  waiting  for  him  to  re- 
cover, Marshall  approached  and  touched  him  on  the 
arm. 

"Father — "  he  whispered  gently. 

The  judge  glanced  up. 

"It's  a  lie,  Marshall!" 


254     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

But  Marshall  only  stared  at  him  until  the  judge 
again  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

When  he  glanced  up  a  few  moments  later,  he 
found  himself  alone.  Marshall  had  stolen  from  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 

SHRIMPLIN  TO  THE  RESCUE 

BEYOND  the  flats  and  the  railroad  tracks  and 
over  across  the  new  high,  iron  bridge,  was  a 
low-lying  region  much  affected  by  the  drivers  of 
dump-carts,  whose  activity  was  visibly  attested  by 
the  cinders,  the  ashes,  the  tin  cans,  the  staved-in 
barrels  and  the  lidless  boxes  that  everywhere  met 
the  eye. 

On  the  verge  of  this  waste,  which  civilization  had 
builded  and  shaped  with  its  discarded  odds  and 
ends,  were  the  meager  beginnings  of  a  poor  suburb. 
Here  an  enterprising  landlord  had  erected  a  soli- 
tary row  of  slab-sided  dwellings  of  a  uniform  ugli- 
ness; and  had  given  to  each  a  single  coat  of  yellow 
paint  of  such  exceeding  thinness,  that  it  was  possi- 
ble to  determine  by  the  whiter  daubs  of  putty  show- 
ing through,  just  where  every  nail  had  been  driven. 

Only  the  very  poorest  or  the  most  shiftless  of 
Mount  Hope's  population  found  a  refuge  in  this 
quarter.  The  Montgomerys  being  strictly  eligible, 
it  was  but  natural  that  Joe  should  have  taken  up  his 
abode  here  on  the  day  the  first  of  the  eight  houses 
had  been  finished.     Joe  was  burdened  by  no  trou- 

255^ 


256     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

blesome  convictions  touching  the  advantages  of  a 
gravelly  soil  or  a  southern  exposure,  and  the  word 
sanitation  had  it  been  spoken  in  his  presence  would 
have  conveyed  no  meaning  to  his  mind.  He  had 
never  heard  of  germs,  and  he  had  as  little  prejudice 
concerning  stagnant  water  as  he  had  predilection  for 
clear  water.  He  knew  in  a  general  way  that  all 
water  was  wet,  but  further  than  this  he  gave  the  ele- 
ment no  thought. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  his  was  the  very  oldest 
family  seated  in  this  delectable  spot.  The  young 
Montgomerys  could  with  perfect  propriety  claim 
precedence  at  all  the  stagnant  pools  that  offered 
superior  advantages  as  yielding  a  rich  harvest  of 
tadpoles.  While  the  mature  intelligence  might  have 
considered  these  miniature  lakes  as  highly  undesira- 
ble, the  young  Montgomerys  were  not  unmindful  of 
their  blessings.  As  babies,  clothed  in  shapeless  gar- 
ments, they  launched  upon  the  green  slime  their  tiny 
fleet  of  chips,  and,  grown  a  little  older,  it  was  here 
they  waded  in  the  happy  summer  days.  The  very 
dump-carts  came  and  went  like  perpetual  argosies, 
bringing  riches — discarded  furniture  and  cast-off 
clothing — to  their  very  door. 

In  merciful  defiance  of  those  hidden  perils  that 
lurk  where  sanitation  and  hygiene  are  unpractised 
sciences,  Joe's  numerous  family  throve  and  multi- 
plied. The  baby  carriage  which  had  held  his  first- 
born,— Arthur,  now  aged  fourteen, — was  still  in 
use,  the  luster  of  its  paint  much  dimmed  and  its 


SHRIMPLIN    TO    THE    RESCUE      257 

upholstery  but  a  memory.  It  had  trundled  a  suc- 
cession of  little  Montgomerys  among  the  cinder 
piles;  indeed,  it  was  almost  a  feature  of  the  land- 
scape, for  Joe's  family  was  his  chiefest  contribution 
to  the  wealth  of  his  country. 

There  had  been  periods  varying  from  a  few  days 
to  a  few  weeks  when  the  Montgomerys  were  sole 
tenants  of  that  row  of  slab-sided  houses ;  their  pov- 
erty being  a  fixed  condition,  they  were  merely  some- 
times poorer.  No  transient  gleam  of  a  larger  pros- 
perity had  ever  illuminated  the  horizon  of  their 
lives,  and  they  had  never  been  tempted  to  move  to 
other  parts  of  the  town  where  the  ground  and  the 
rents  were  higher. 

Residents  of  this  locality,  not  being  burdened 
with  any  means  of  locomotion  beyond  their  own 
legs,  usually  came  and  went  by  way  of  the  high 
iron  bridge;  their  legal  right  of  way  however  was 
by  a  neglected  thoroughfare  that  had  ambitiously 
set  out  to  be  a  street,  but  having  failed  of  its  inten- 
tion, presently  dwindled  to  a  pleasant  country  road 
which  not  far  beyond  crossed  the  river  by  the  old 
wooden  bridge  below  the  depot. 

It  was  the  iron  bridge  which  Mrs.  Montgomery, 
escorted  by  the  daring  Shrimplin,  had  crossed  that 
fateful  night  of  her  interview  with  Judge  Langham, 
and  it  was  toward  it  that  her  glance  was  turned  for 
many  days  after  in  the  hope  that  she  might  see 
Joe's  bulk  of  bone  and  muscle  as  he  slouched  in  the 
direction  of  the  home  and  family  he  had  so  want- 


258     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

only  forsaken.  But  a  veil  of  mystery  obscured  every 
fact  that  bore  on  the  handy-man's  disappearance;  no 
eye  penetrated  it,  no  hand  lifted  it. 

Soon  after  Montgomery's  disappearance  his  de- 
serted wife  fell  upon  evil  times  indeed.  In  spite  of 
her  bravest  efforts  the  rent  fell  hopelessly  in  arrears. 
For  a  time  her  pride  kept  her  away  from  the 
Shrimplins,  who  might  have  helped  her.  To  go  to 
the  little  lamplighter's  was  to  hear  bitter  truths  about 
her  husband;  Mr.  Shrimplin's  denunciations  were 
especially  fierce  and  scathing,  for  here  he  felt  that 
righteousness  was  all  on  his  side  and  that  in  abusing 
the  absconding  Joe  he  was  performing  a  moral  act. 

But  at  last  Nellie's  fortunes  reached  a  crisis. 
An  obdurate  landlord  set  her  few  poor  belong- 
ings in  the  gutter.  Even  in  the  most  pros- 
perous days  their  roof-tree  had  flourished  but  pre- 
cariously and  now  it  was  down  and  level  with  the 
dust;  seeing  which  Mrs.  Montgomery  placed  her 
youngest  in  the  ancient  vehicle  which  had  trundled 
all  that  generation  of  Montgomerys,  drew  her  apron 
before  her  eyes  and  wept.  But  quickly  rallying 
to  the  need  for  immediate  action  she  swallowed  her 
pride  and  sent  Arthur  in  quest  of  his  uncle,  who  was 
well  fitted  by  sobriety,  industry  and  thrift,  to  cope 
with  such  a  crisis. 

Mr.  Shrimplin's  only  weaknesses  were  such  as 
spring  from  an  eager  childlike  vanity,  and  a  na- 
ture as  shy  as  a  fawn's  of  whatever  held  even  a 
suggestion  of  danger.     To  Custer  he  could  brag  of 


SHRIMPLIN    TO    THE    RESCUE      259 

crimes  he  had  never  committed,  but  an  unpaid 
butcher's  bill  would  have  robbed  him  of  his  sleep; 
also  he  wore  a  very  tender  heart  in  his  narrow 
chest,  though  he  did  his  best  to  hide  it  by  assum- 
ing a  bold  and  hardy  air  and  by  garnishing  his 
conversation  with  what  he  counted  the  very  flower 
of  a  brutal  worldly  cynicism. 

Thus  it  was  that  when  Arthur  had  found  his  uncle 
and  had  stated  his  case,  Mr.  Shrimplin  instantly  sum- 
moned to  his  aid  all  his  redoubtable  powers  of  speech 
and  fell  to  cursing  the  recreant  husband  and  father. 
Having  eased  himself  in  this  manner,  and  not  wish- 
ing Arthur  to  be  entirely  unmindful  of  his  vast 
superiority,  he  called  the  boy's  attention  to  the  un- 
deniable fact  that  he,  Shrimplin,  could  have  been 
kicked  out  of  doors  and  Joe  Montgomery  would 
not  have  lifted  a  hand  to  save  him.  Yet  all  this 
while  the  little  lamplighter,  with  the  boy  at  his  heels, 
was  moving  rapidly  across  the  flats. 

From  the  town  end  of  the  bridge,  youthful  eyes 
had  descried  his  coming  and  the  word  was  quickly 
passed  that  the  uncle  of  all  the  little  Montgomerys 
was  approaching,  presumably  with  philanthropic  in- 
tent. This  rumor  instantly  stimulated  an  interest  on 
the  part  of  the  adult  population,  an  interest  which 
had  somewhat  languished  owing  to  the  incapacity  of 
human  nature  to  sustain  an  emotional  climax  for 
any  considerable  length  of  time.  Untidy  women  and 
idle-looking  men  with  the  rust  of  inaction  consum- 
ing them,  quickly  appeared  on  the  scene,  and  when 


260     THE    JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

the  little  lamplighter  descended  from  the  railway 
tracks  it  was  to  be  greeted  with  something  like  an 
ovation  at  the  hands  of  his  sister-in-law's  neighbors. 

His  ears  caught  the  murmur  of  approval  that 
passed  from  lip  to  lip  and  out  of  the  very  tail  of  his 
bleached  eyes  he  noted  the  expression  of  satisfac- 
tion that  was  on  every  face.  Even  the  previously  ob- 
durate landlord  met  him  with  words  of  apology  and 
conciliation.  It  was  a  happy  moment  for  Mr. 
Shrimplin,  but  not  by  so  much  as  the  flicker  of  an 
eyelash  did  he  betray  that  this  was  so.  He  had 
considered  himself  such  a  public  character  since  the 
night  of  the  McBride  murder  that  he  now  deemed 
it  incumbent  to  preserve  a  stoic  manner;  the  ad- 
miration of  his  fellows  could  win  nothing  from  the 
sternness  of  his  nature,  so  he  ignored  the  neigh- 
bors, while  he  was  barely  civil  to  the  landlord.  The 
big  roll  of  bills  which,  with  something  of  a  flourish, 
he  produced  from  the  pocket  of  his  greasy  overalls, 
settled  the  rent,  and  the  neighbors  noted  with  bated 
breath  that  the  size  of  this  roll  was  not  perceptibly 
diminished  by  the  transaction. 

Presently  Mr.  Shrimplin  found  himself  standing 
alone  with  Nellie;  the  landlord  had  departed  with 
his  money,  while  the  neighbors,  having  devoted 
the  greater  part  of  the  day  to  a  sympathetic  interest 
in  Mrs.  Montgomery's  fortunes,  now  had  leisure  for 
their  own  affairs. 

"Why  didn't  you  send  for  me  sooner?"  demanded 
the  little  man  with  some  asperity.   "No  sense  in  hav- 


SHRIMPLIN    TO    THE    RESCUE      261 

ing  your  things  put  out  like  this  when  you  only  got 
to  put  them  back  again  !" 

"If  Joe  was  only  here  this  would  never  have  hap- 
pened !"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery,  giving  way  to  co- 
pious tears. 

But  Mr.  Shrimplin  seemed  not  so  sure  of  this. 
The  settling  of  the  handy-man's  difficulties  had  been 
one  of  the  few  extravagances  he  had  permitted  him- 
self. His  glance  now  fell  on  the  small  occupant  of 
the  decrepit  baby  carriage,  and  he  gave  a  start  of 
astonishment. 

"Lord!"  he  ejaculated,  pointing  to  the  child. 
"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that's  yours,  too?" 

"Three  weeks  next  Sunday,"  said  Mrs.  Mont- 
gomery. 

"Another  one, — well,  I  don't  wonder  you've  kept 
still  about  it!  What's  the  use  of  bringing  children 
into  the  world  when  you  can't  half  take  care  of 
em: 

"I  didn't  keep  still  about  it, — only  I  had  so  much 
to  worry  me!"  said  Nellie,  with  a  shadowy  sort  of 
resentment  at  the  little  lamplighter's  words  and 
manner. 

"It's  a  nice-looking  baby !"  admitted  Mr.  Shrimp- 
lin, relenting. 

"It's  a  boy,  see — he's  got  his  father's  eyes  and 
nose—" 

"I  don't  know  about  the  eyes,  but  the  nose  is  a 
durn  sight  whiter  than  Joe's !  Maybe,  though,  when 
it's  Joe's  age  it  will  use  the  same  brand  of  paint." 


262     THE    JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

"What  you  got  it  in  for  Joe  for?  He  never  done 
nothing  to  you !"  said  Joe's  wife,  with  palpable  of- 
fense. 

"He  ought  to  be  stood  up  and  lammed  over  the 
head  with  a  club!"  observed  Mr.  Shrimplin,  with 
considerable  acrimony  of  tone.  "You'd  have  thought 
that  being  a  witness  would  have  made  a  man  out  of 
Joe  if  anything  would, — and  how  does  he  act? 
Why,  he  lights  out ;  he  gets  to  be  good  for  something 
beside  soaking  up  whisky  and  spoiling  his  insides, 
and  he  skips  the  town ;  now  if  that  ain't  a  devil  of  a 
way  for  him  to  act,  I'd  like  to  know  what  you 
call  it!" 

"He  was  a  good  man — "  declared  Mrs.  Mont- 
gomery with  conviction.  "A  good  man,  but  un- 
fortunate!" 

"Well,  if  he  suits  you,  Nellie—" 

"He  does!" 

"I'm  glad  of  it,"  retorted  Mr.  Shrimplin,  taking  a 
chew  of  tobacco.  "For  I  don't  reckon  he'd  ever  suit 
any  one  else !" 

"You  and  none  of  my  family  never  liked  Joe!" 
said  Mrs.  Montgomery. 

"Well,  why  should  we?"  demanded  Mr.  Shrimp- 
lin impatiently. 

"Your  wife, — my  own  sister,  too, — said  he  should 
never  darken  her  door,  and  he  was  that  proud  he 
never  did!  You  couldn't  have  dragged  him  there!" 
said  Mrs.  Montgomery,  and  the  ready  tears  dimmed 
her  eyes. 


SHRIMPLIN    TO    THE    RESCUE      263 

"And  you  couldn't  have  dragged  him  away  quick 
enough  if  he  had  a-come !  Now  don't  you  get  tearful 
over  Joe,  you  can't  call  him  no  prodigal;  his  veal's 
tough  old  beef  by  this  time !  But  I  never  had  noth- 
ing in  particular  against  him  more  than  I  thought  he 
ought  to  be  kicked  clean  off  the  face  of  the  earth !" 
said  Mr.  Shrimplin,  rolling  his  drooping  flaxen  mus- 
tache fiercely  between  his  stubby  thumb  and  its 
neighboring  forefinger. 

Such  personal  relations  as  the  little  lamplighter 
had  sustained  with  the  handy-man  had  invariably 
been  of  the  most  friendly  and  pacific  description. 
Esteeming  Joe  a  gentleman  of  uncertain  habits,  and 
of  criminal  instincts  that  might  at  any  moment  be 
translated  into  vigorous  action,  Mr.  Shrimplin  had 
always  been  at  much  pains  to  placate  him.  In  the 
heat  of  the  moment,  however,  all  this  was  forgotten, 
and  Mr.  Shrimplin's  love  of  decency  and  rectitude 
promptly  asserted  itself. 

"It's  easy  enough  to  pick  flaws  in  a  popular  good- 
looking  man  like  Joe !"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery,  with 
whom  time  and  absence  had  been  at  work,  also,  and 
to  such  an  extent  that  the  first  dim  glint  of  a  halo 
was  beginning  to  fix  itself  about  the  curly  red  head 
of  her  delinquent  spouse. 

"And  a  whole  lot  of  good  them  good  looks  of  his 
has  done  you,  Nellie,"  rejoined  Mr.  Shrimplin,  with 
a  little  cackle  of  mirth. 

"He  never  even  seen  his  youngest !"  said  Mrs. 
Montgomery,   giving  completely  away  to  tears   at 


264     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

this  moving  thought  of  the  handy-man's  depriva- 
tion. 

"I  reckon  he  could  even  stand  that,"  observed  Mr. 
Shrimplin  unfeelingly.  "I  bet  he  never  knowed  'em 
apart." 

"Why  he  was  just  wrapped  up  in  them  and  me, — 
just  wrapped  up  !"  cried  Mrs.  Montgomery. 

"Well,  he  had  a  blame  curious  way  of  showing  it; 
no  one  would  ever  have  suspected  it  of  him !"  said 
Mr.  Shrimplin. 

"I  guess  this  wouldn't  have  happened  if  his  own 
folks  had  had  more  faith  in  Joe,  that's  what  wore 
on  him, — I  seen  it  wear  on  him!"  declared  Mrs. 
Montgomery,  in  a  tone  of  melancholy  conviction. 

"In  the  main  I'm  a  truthful  man,  Nellie, — I  wish 
to  be  anyhow;  and  I'll  tell  you  honest  I  was  never 
able  to  see  much  in  Joe  aside  from  his  good  looks, 
which  I  know  he  had,  now  that  you  call  them  to 
mind.  No, — I  think  a  coat  of  tar  and  feathers  would 
be  about  the  thing  for  Joe ;  he's  the  sort  of  bird  to 
wear  that  kind  of  plumage.  My  opinion  is  that 
you've  seen  the  last  of  him;  no  sense  in  your  think- 
ing otherwise,  because  you're  just  leaving  yourself 
open  to  disappointment!" 

Yet  Mr.  Shrimplin  remained  to  reinstate  Mrs. 
Montgomery  in  her  home.  It  was  his  expert  hands 
that  set  up  the  cracked  and  rusted  kitchen  stove, 
and  arranged  the  scanty  and  battered  furniture  in 
the  several  rooms.  Nor  was  he  satisfied  to  do  mere- 
ly  this,    for   he  presently   despatched   Arthur   into 


SHRIMPLIN    TO    THE    RESCUE      265 

town  after  an  excellent  assortment  of  groceries.  All 
the  while,  however,  he  neglected  no  opportunity  to 
elaborate  for  Nellie's  benefit  his  opinions  concern- 
ing the  handy-man's  utter  worthlessness.  At  length 
this  good  Samaritan  paused  from  his  labors,  and 
regaling  himself  with  a  fresh  chew  of  tobacco  and 
a  parting  gibe  at  Joe,  set  briskly  off  for  his  own 
home. 

The  street  lamps  demanded  his  immediate  atten- 
tion, and  it  was  not  until  his  day's  work  was  finished 
that  he  found  opportunity  to  tell  Mrs.  Shrimplin  of 
these  straits  to  which  Nellie  had  been  reduced.  He 
concluded  by  reiterating  his  opinion  that  her  sister 
had  seen  the  last  of  Joe. 

"I  don't  know  why  you  say  that!"  was  Mrs. 
Shrimplin's  unexpected  rejoinder. 

"Ain't  I  got  mighty  good  reason  to  say  it?"  asked 
her  husband.  "Don't  you  know,  and  ain't  every  one 
always  said  Joe  was  just  too  low  to  live?  I'd  like  to 
know  if  it  wasn't  you  said  he  should  never  set  his 
foot  inside  your  door?" 

"I  might  say  it  again,  and  then  I  mightn't,"  re- 
joined Mrs.  Shrimplin,  with  aggravating  composure. 

Two  days  later  when  the  Shrimplins  were  at 
breakfast  Mrs.  Montgomery  walked  in  on  them.  Her 
face  was  streaked  with  the  traces  of  recent  tears,  but 
there  was  the  light  of  happy  vindication  in  her  eyes, 
and  a  soiled  and  crumpled  letter  in  her  hand. 

"Mercy,  Nellie!"  exclaimed  her  sister.  "What's 
the  matter  now?" 


266     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Matter?  Why,  I'm  so  happy  I  just  don't  know 
what  to  do!    I've  heard  from  my  Joe!" 

Mrs.  Shrimplin  rested  her  hands  on  her  hips  and 
surveyed  Nellie  with  eyes  that  seemed  to  hold  pity 
and  contempt  in  about  equal  proportion. 

"You've  heard  from  Joe !  Well,  if  he  was  my  hus- 
band he'd  have  heard  from  me  long  ago !"  she  said. 

And  it  occurred  to  Mr.  Shrimplin  that  his  wife 
was  wonderfully  consistent  in  her  inconsistencies. 

"Well,  and  what  have  you  got  against  Joe?"  de- 
manded Mrs.  Montgomery  with  ready  anger. 

"She  ain't  got  nothing  new,  Nellie!"  said  Mr. 
Shrimplin,  desirous  of  preserving  the  peace. 

"Well,  she's  mighty  quick  to  misjudge  him! 
Look !"  and  she  drew  from  the  envelope  she  held  in 
her  hand  a  dirty  greenback.  "He's  sent  me  twenty 
dollars — my  man  has!  Does  that  look  like  he'd 
forgotten  me  or  his  children?"  protested  Nellie,  in 
a  voice  of  happy  triumph. 

"I'll  bet  it's  counterfeit;  I'd  go  slow  on  trying  to 
pass  it,"  said  Mr.  Shrimplin  when  he  had  somewhat 
recovered  from  the  shock  of  the  sudden  announce- 
ment. 

It  was  plain  that  Nellie  had  never  thought  of  any 
such  possibility  as  this,  for  the  light  died  out  of  her 
eyes. 

"How  can  I  find  out  whether  it's  good  or  not?" 
she  faltered. 

"Let  me  look  at  it !"  said  Mr.  Shrimplin. 

Mrs.   Montgomery  placed  the  bill  in  his  hands. 


SHRIMPLIN    TO    THE    RESCUE      267 

Her  face  was  keen  and  pinched  with  anxiety  as  she 
awaited  the  little  man's  verdict. 

"It's  genu-ine  all  right/'  he  at  length  admitted 
grudgingly. 

"I  knew  it  was!"  cried  Nellie,  her  miserable  sus- 
picions put  at  rest 

"Well,  you'd  better  spend  it  quick  and  get  some 
good  of  it  before  old  Joe  comes  back  and  wants  the 
change !"  advised  Mr.  Shrimplin. 

"What  does  he  say  ?"  questioned  Mrs.  Shrimplin. 

"He  don't  say  a  word,  there  was  nothing  but  the 
bill." 

"Well,  maybe  it  wasn't  Joe  sent  it  after  all !"  said 
the  little  lamplighter. 

"The  writing  on  the  envelope's  his,  I'd  know  it 
anywhere.  I  guess  he  couldn't  trust  himself  to 
write;  but  he'll  come  back,  my  man  will!  Maybe 
he's  on  his  way  now !"  exclaimed  Nellie. 

"Ain't  there  no  postmark?"  asked  Mrs.  Shrimp- 
lin. 

"Why,  I  never  thought  to  look !" 

But  Nellie's  face  fell  when  she  did  look. 

"It  was  mailed  at  Denver!"  she  said,  in  an  awe- 
struck voice. 

Her  man  seemed  at  the  very  ends  of  the  earth,  and 
his  return  became  a  doubtful  thing. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  talk  about  this  to  the  police  or 
anybody;  they  ain't  been  able  to  find  Joe,  and  I 
wouldn't  be  the  one  to  tell  them  where  he's  at!"  ad- 
vised Mr.  Shrimplin. 


268     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"They've  stopped  coming  to  the  house/'  said 
Nellie. 

But  she  looked  inquiringly  at  Mr.  Shrimplin. 
Where  the  police  were  concerned  she  had  faith  in 
his  masculine  understanding;  Joe  had  always  seemed 
to  know  a  great  deal  about  the  police,  she  remem- 
bered. 

"I  reckon  old  Joe  had  his  own  reasons  for  skip- 
ping out,  and  they  must  have  looked  good  to  him. 
No,  I  can't  see  that  you  are  bound  to  help  the  police ; 
the  police  ain't  helped  you."  And  Mr.  Shrimplin  re- 
turned to  the  scrutiny  of  the  bill  in  his  hand. 

That  was  the  profound  mystery.  No  one  knew 
better  than  he  that  Joe  was  not  given  to  such  prod- 
igal generosity;  neither  were  twenty-dollar  bills 
frequent  with  him. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY 

THE  CAT  AND  THE  MOUSE 

MR.  GILMORE,  having  yielded  once  again 
to  temptation,  found  himself  at  Marshall 
Langham's  door.  He  asked  for  the  lawyer,  but  was 
informed  he  was  not  at  home,  a  fact  of  which  Mr. 
Gilmore  was  perfectly  well  aware,  since  he  had 
parted  from  him  not  twenty  minutes  before  at  the 
court-house  steps.  Mrs.  Langham  was  at  home, 
however,  and  at  this  welcome  information  the 
gambler,  smiling,  strode  into  the  hall. 

From  the  parlor,  Evelyn  heard  his  voice.  She 
had  found  him  amusing  in  the  first  days  of  their  ac- 
quaintance, and  possibly  she  might  again  find  him 
diverting,  but  this  afternoon  he  had  chosen  ill  for 
his  call.  She  was  quite  sure  she  detested  him.  For 
the  first  time  she  measured  him  by  standards  of 
which  he  could  know  nothing,  and  found  no  good 
thing  in  him.  What  had  Marsh  meant  when  he 
forced  this  most  undesirable  acquaintance  on  her! 

"You  wanted  to  see  Marsh?"  she  asked,  as  she 
gave  him  her  hand. 

'That  will  keep,"  said  Gilmore  cheerfully.  "May 
I  stay?"  he  added. 

269 


270     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"If  you  wish,"  she  answered  indifferently. 

She  felt  a  sense  of  shame  at  his  presence  there. 
Everything  about  her  seemed  to  sink  to  his  level, 
which  was  a  very  low  level,  she  was  sure.  These 
afternoon  calls  were  a  recent  feature  of  their  inti- 
macy. Before  Gilmore  came,  she  had  been  think- 
ing for  the  hundredth  time  of  John  North — 
the  man  she  had  once  loved  and  now  hated, 
but  in  whose  honor  she  had  such  confidence 
that  she  knew  he  would  face  death  rather 
than  compromise  her.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  he 
had  scorned  her,  had  thrown  her  aside  for  another, 
she  had  had  on  his  account  many  a  soul-rending 
struggle  with  her  conscience,  with  her  better  self. 
She  knew  that  a  word  from  her,  and  his  prison  doors 
would  open  to  a  free  world.  Time  and  again  this 
word  had  trembled  on  her  lips  unuttered.  She 
knew  also  that  it  was  not  hate  of  North  that  kept 
her  silent.  It  was  an  intangible,  unformed,  un- 
thoughtout  fear  of  what  might  follow  after.  North, 
she  knew,  was  innocent;  who  then  was  guilty?  She 
closed  her  eyes  and  shut  her  lips.  That  North 
would  ultimately  clear  himself  she  never  seriously 
doubted,  and  yet  the  burden  of  her  secret  was  in- 
tolerable. In  her  present  mood,  she  was  accessible 
to  every  passing  influence,  and  to-day  it  was  Gil- 
more's  fate  to  find  her  both  penitent  and  rebellious, 
but  he  could  not  know  this,  he  only  knew  that  she 
was  quieter  than  usual. 

He  seated  himself  at  her  side,  and  his  eyes,  eager 


THE    CAT   AND    THE    MOUSE       271 

and  animated,  fed  on  her  beauty.  He  had  come 
to  the  belief  that  only  the  lightest  barriers  stood  be- 
tween himself  and  Evelyn  Langham,  and  it  was 
a  question  in  his  mind  of  just  how  much  he 
would  be  willing  to  sacrifice  for  her  sake. 
He  boasted  nothing  in  the  way  of  position  or 
reputation,  and  no  act  of  his  could  possibly  add  to 
the  disfavor  in  which  he  was  already  held;  but  to 
leave  Mount  Hope  meant  certain  definite  financial 
losses;  this  had  served  as  a  check  on  his  ardor,  for 
where  money  was  concerned  Gilmore  was  cautious. 
But  his  passion  was  coming  to  be  the  supreme  thing 
in  his  life;  a  fortunate  chance  had  placed  him  where 
he  now  stood  in  relation  to  her,  and  chance  again, 
as  unkind  as  it  had  been  kind,  might  separate  them. 
The  set  of  Gilmore's  heavy  jaws  became  tense 
with  this  thought  and  with  the  ruthless  strength 
of  his  purpose.  He  would  shake  down  one  sensation 
for  Mount  Hope  before  he  got  away, — and  he  would 
not  go  alone. 

"I  suppose  you  were  at  the  trial  to-day?"  Evelyn 
said. 

"Yes,  I  was  there  for  a  little  while  this  afternoon/' 
he  answered.  "It's  rather  tame  yet,  they're  still  fuss- 
ing over  the  jury." 

"How  is  Jack  bearing  it?"  she  asked. 

Her  question  seemed  to  depress  Gilmore. 

"Why  do  you  care  about  how  he  takes  it?  I  don't 
suppose  he  sees  any  fun  in  it, — he  didn't  look  to  me 
as  if  he  did,"  he  said  slowly. 


272     THE   JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

"But  how  did  he  seem  to  you  ?" 

"Oh,  he's  got  nerve  enough,  if  that's  what  you 
mean !" 

"Poor  Jack!"  she  murmured  softly. 

"If  you're  curious,  why  don't  you  go  take  a  look 
at  poor  Jack?  He'll  be  there  all  right  for  the  next 
few  weeks,"  said  the  gambler,  watching  her  nar- 
rowly. 

"I'm  afraid  Marsh  might  object." 

At  this  Gilmore  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 

"Excuse  me!"  he  said;  and  in  explanation  of  his 
sudden  mirth,  he  added:  "The  idea  of  your  trot- 
ting out  Marsh  to  me !" 

"I'm  not  trotting  him  out  to  you, — as  you  call  it," 
Evelyn  said  quietly,  but  her  small  foot  tapped  the 
floor.  She  intended  presently  to  rid  herself  of  Gil- 
more  for  all  time. 

"Yes,  but  I  was  afraid  you  were  going  to." 

"You  mustn't  speak  to  me  as  you  do;  I  have  done 
nothing  to  give  you  the  privilege." 

Gilmore  did  not  seem  at  all  abashed  at  this  re- 
proof. 

"If  you  want  to  go  to  the  trial  I'll  take  you, 
and  I'll  agree  to  make  it  all  right  with  Marsh  after- 
ward ;  what  do  you  say  ?"  he  asked. 

Evelyn  smiled  brightly,  but  she  did  not  explain 
to  him  the  utter  impossibility  of  their  appearing  in 
public  together  either  at  the  North  trial  or  any- 
where else  for  the  matter  of  that;  there  were  bounds 


THE    CAT    AND    THE    MOUSE       273 

set  even  to  her  reckless  disregard  of  what  Mount 
Hope  held  to  be  right  and  proper. 

"Oh,  no,  you're  very  kind,  but  I  don't  think  I 
should  care  to  see  poor  Jack  now." 

She  gave  a  little  shiver  of  horror  as  if  at  the  mere 
idea.  This  was  for  the  gambler,  but  her  real  feeling 
was  far  deeper  than  he,  suspicious  as  he  was,  could 
possibly  know. 

"Why  do  you  'poor  Jack'  him  to  me?"  said  Gil- 
more  sullenly. 

Evelyn  opened  her  fine  eyes  in  apparent  astonish- 
ment. 

"He  is  one  of  my  oldest  friends.  I  have  known 
him  all  my  life !"  she  said. 

"Well,  one's  friends  should  keep  out  of  the  sort  of 
trouble  he's  made  for  himself,"  observed  Gilmore  in 
surly  tones. 

"Yes, — perhaps — "  answered  Evelyn  absently. 

"Look  here,  I  don't  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
North  anyhow;  can't  we  hit  on  some  other  topic?" 
asked  Gilmore. 

It  maddened  him  even  to  think  of  the  part  the 
accused  man  had  played  in  her  life. 

"Why  have  you  and  Marsh  turned  against  him?" 
she  asked. 

The  gambler  considered  for  an  instant. 

"Do  you  really  want  to  know?  Well,  you  see  he 
wasn't  square ;  that  does  a  man  up  quicker  than  any- 
thing else." 


274     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  she  cried. 

"It's  so, — ask  Marsh;  we  found  him  to  be  an  all- 
right  crook;  then's  when  we  quit  him,"  he  said,  nod- 
ding and  smiling  grimly. 

There  was  something  in  his  manner  which  warned 
her  that  his  real  meaning  was  intentionally  ob- 
scured. She  remembered  that  Marsh  had 
once  boasted  of  having  proof  that  she  was  in  North's 
rooms  the  afternoon  of  the  murder  and  it  flashed 
across  her  mind  that  if  any  one  really  knew  of  her 
presence  there  it  was  Gilmore  himself.  She  studied 
him  furtively,  and  she  observed  that  his  black 
waxed  mustache  shaded  a  pair  of  lips  that  wore 
a  mirthless  smile,  and  what  had  at  first  been  no 
more  than  an  undefined  suspicion  grew  into  a  cer- 
tainty. Gilmore  shifted  uneasily  in  his  chair.  He 
felt  that  since  their  last  meeting  he  had  lost  ground 
with  her. 

"What's  the  matter, — why  do  you  keep  me  at 
arm's  length ;  what  have  I  done,  anyhow  ?"  he  asked 
impatiently. 

"Do  I  keep  you  at  arm's  length?  Well,  perhaps 
you  need  to  be  kept  there,"  she  said. 

"You  should  know  what  brings  me  here, — why  it 
is  I  can't  keep  away — " 

"How  should  I  know,  unless  you  tell  me?"  she 
said  softly. 

Gilmore  bent  toward  her,  his  eyes  lustrous  with 
suppressed  feeling. 


THE    CAT    AND    THE    MOUSE        275 

"Isn't  that  another  of  your  little  jokes,  Evelyn? 
Do  you  really  want  me  to  tell  you  ?" 

"I  am  dying  with  curiosity !" 

Voice  and  manner  seemed  to  encourage,  and  the 
gambler  felt  his  heart  leap  within  him. 

"Well,  I  guess  it's  principally  to  see  you !"  he 
muttered,  but  his  lips  quivered  with  emotion. 

She  laughed. 

"Just  see  how  mistaken  one  may  be,  Andy;  I 
thought  all  along  it  was  Marsh !" 

At  her  use  of  his  Christian  name  his  heavy  face 
became  radiant.  His  purposes  were  usually  allied 
to  an  admirable  directness  of  speech  that  never  left 
one  long  in  doubt  as  to  his  full  meaning. 

"Look  here,  aren't  you  about  sick  of  Marsh?"  he 
asked.  "How  long  are  you  going  to  stand  for  this 
sort  of  thing?  You  have  a  right  to  expect  some- 
thing better  than  he  has  to  offer  you !" 

She  met  the  glance  of  his  burning  black  eyes  with 
undisturbed  serenity,  but  a  cruel  smile  had  come 
again  to  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  She  was  pre- 
paring to  settle  her  score  with  Gilmore  in  a 
fashion  he  would  not  soon  forget.  One  of  her  hands 
rested  on  the  arm  of  her  chair,  and  the  gambler's 
ringed  ringers  closed  about  it;  but  apparently  she 
was  unaware  of  this;  at  least  she  did  not  seek  to 
withdraw  it. 

"By  God,  you're  pretty!"  he  cried. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked  quietly. 


276     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Mean, — don't  you  know  that  I  love  you?  Have 
I  got  to  make  it  plain  that  I  care  for  you, — that  you 
are  everything  to  me?"  he  asked,  bending  toward 
her. 

"So  you  care  a  great  deal  about  me,  do  you, 
Andy?"  she  asked  slowly. 

"I  like  to  hear  you  call  me  that!"  he  said  with 
a  deep  breath. 

"What  is  it,  Andy — what  do  you  want?"  she 
continued. 

"You — you!"  he  said  hoarsely;  his  face  was 
white,  he  had  come  to  the  end  of  long  days  of  hope 
and  doubt ;  he  had  battered  down  every  obstacle  that 
stood  in  his  path  and  he  was  telling  her  of  his  love, 
nor  did  she  seem  unwilling  to  hear  him.  "You  are 
the  whole  thing  to  me !  I  have  loved  you  always — 
ever  since  I  first  saw  you !  Tell  me  you'll  quit  this 
place  with  me — I  swear  I'll  make  you  happy — " 

His  face  was  very  close  to  hers,  and  guessing  his 
purpose  she  snatched  away  her  hand.  Then  she 
laughed. 

As  the  sound  of  her  merriment  fell  on  Gilmore's 
startled  ears,  there  swiftly  came  to  him  the  con- 
sciousness that  something  was  wrong. 

"You  and  your  love-making  are  very  funny,  Mr. 
Gilmore;  but  there  is  one  thing  you  don't  seem  to 
understand.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  taste  in  selec- 
tion even  when  it  has  ceased  to  be  a  matter  of  mor- 
als. I  don't  like  you,  Mr.  Gilmore.  You  amused  me, 
but  you  are  merely  tiresome  now." 


THE    CAT    AND    THE    MOUSE       277 

She  spoke  with  deliberate  contempt,  and  his  face 
turned  white  and  then  scarlet,  as  if  under  the  sting 
of  a  lash. 

"If  you  were  a  man — "  he  began,  infuriated  by 
the  insolence  of  her  speech. 

"If  I  were  a  man  I  should  be  quite  able  to  take 
care  of  myself.  Understand,  I  am  seeing  you  for  the 
last  time — " 

"Yes,  by  God,  you  are !"  he  cried. 

His  face  was  ashen.  He  had  come  to  his  feet, 
shaken  and  uncertain.  It  was  as  if  each  word  of 
hers  had  been  a  stab. 

"I  am  glad  we  can  agree  so  perfectly  on  that  point. 
Will  you  kindly  close  the  hall  door  as  you  go  out?" 

She  turned  from  him  and  took  up  a  book  from  the 
table  at  her  elbow.  Gilmore  moved  toward  the  door, 
but  paused  irresolutely.  His  first  feeling  of  furious 
rage  was  now  tempered  by  a  sense  of  coming  loss. 
This  was  to  be  the  end;  he  was  never  to  see  her 
again !  He  swung  about  on  his  heel.  She  was 
already  turning  the  leaves  of  her  book,  apparently 
oblivious  of  his  presence. 

"Am  I  to  believe  you — "  he  faltered. 

She  looked  up  and  her  eyes  met  his.  There  was 
nothing  in  her  glance  to  indicate  that  she  compre- 
hended the  depth  of  his  suffering. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  drawing  in  of  her  full 
lips. 

"When  I  leave  you — if  you  really  mean  that — it 
will  be  to  leave  Mount  Hope !"  said  he  appealingly. 


278      THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

The  savage  vigor  that  was  normally  his  had  de- 
serted him,  his  very  pride  was  gone;  a  sudden  mis- 
trust of  himself  was  humbling  him ;  he  felt  wretch- 
edly out  of  place;  he  was  even  dimly  conscious  of 
his  own  baseness  while  he  was  for  the  moment 
blinded  to  the  cruelty  of  her  conduct.  Under  his 
breath  he  cursed  himself.  By  his  too  great  haste, 
by  a  too  great  frankness  he  had  fooled  away  his 
chances  with  her. 

"That  is  more  than  I  dared  hope,"  Evelyn  re- 
joined composedly. 

"If  I've  offended  you — "  began  Gilmore. 

"Your  presence  offends  me,"  she  interrupted  and 
looked  past  him  to  the  door. 

"You  don't  mean  what  you  say — Evelyn — "  he 
said  earnestly. 

"My  cook  might  have  been  flattered  by  your  pro- 
posal ;  but  why  you  should  have  thought  I  would  be, 
is  utterly  incomprehensible." 

Gilmore's  face  became  livid  on  the  instant.  A 
storm  of  abuse  rushed  to  his  lips  but  he  held  himself 
in  check.  Then  without  a  word  or  a  glance  he 
passed  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

THE  HOUSE  OF  CARDS 

THE  long  day  had  been  devoted  to  the  choosing 
of  the  twelve  men  who  should  say  whether 
John  North  was  innocent  or  guilty,  but  at  last  court 
adjourned  and  Marshall  Langham,  pushing  through 
the  crowd  that  was  emptying  itself  into  the  street, 
turned  away  in  the  direction  of  his  home. 

For  no  single  instant  during  the  day  had  he  been 
able  to  take  his  eyes  from  his  father's  face.  He  had 
heard  almost  nothing  of  what  was  said,  it  was  only 
when  the  coldly  impersonal  tones  of  the  judge's  voice 
reached  him  out  of,  what  was  to  him  silence,  that 
he  was  stung  to  a  full  comprehension  of  what  was 
going  on  about  him.  The  faces  of  the  crowd  had 
blended  until  they  were  as  indistinguishable  as  the 
face  of  humanity  itself.  For  him  there  had  been 
but  the  one  tragic  presence  in  that  dingy  room ;  and 
now — as  the  dull  gray  winter  twilight  enveloped 
him, — wherever  he  turned  his  eyes,  on  the  snow- 
covered  pavement,  in  the  bare  branches  of  the 
trees, — there  he  saw,  endlessly  repeated,  the  white 
drawn  face  of  his  father. 

His  capacity  for  endurance  seemed  to  measure  it- 
279 


28o     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

self  against  the  slow  days.  A  week — two  weeks — 
and  the  trial  would  end,  but  how?  If  the  verdict 
was  guilty,  North's  friends  would  still  continue  their 
fight  for  his  life.  He  must  sustain  himself  beyond 
what  he  felt  to  be  the  utmost  limit  of  his  powers; 
and  always,  day  after  day,  there  would  be  that  face 
with  its  sunken  eyes  and  bloodless  lips,  to  summon 
him  into  its  presence. 

He  found  himself  at  his  own  door,  and  paused 
uncertainly.  He  passed  a  tremulous  hand  before  his 
eyes.  Was  he  sure  of  Gilmore, — was  he  sure  of  Eve- 
lyn, who  must  know  that  North  was  innocent?  The 
thought  of  her.  roused  in  him  all  his  bitter  sense  of 
hurt  and  injury.  North  had  trampled  on  his  confi- 
dence and  friendship !  The  lines  of  his  face  grew 
hard.  This  was  to  be  his  revenge, — his  by  every 
right,  and  his  fears  should  rob  him  of  no  part  of  it! 

He  pushed  open  the  door  and  entered  the  unlighted 
hall,  then  with  a  grumbled  oath  because  of  the  dark- 
ness, passed  on  into  the  sitting-room.  Except  for 
such  light  as  a  bed  of  soft  coal  in  the  grate  gave  out, 
the  room  was  clothed  in  uncertainty.  He  stumbled 
against  a  chair  and  swore  again  savagely.  He  was 
answered  by  a  soft  laugh,  and  then  he  saw  Evelyn 
seated  in  the  big  arm-chair  at  one  side  of  the  fire- 
place. 

"Did  you  hurt  yourself,  Marsh?"  she  asked. 

Langham  growled  an  unintelligible  reply  and 
dropped  heavily  into  a  chair.  He  brought  with  him 
the  fumes  of  whisky  and  stale  tobacco,  and  as  these 


THE    HOUSE    OF    CARDS  281 

reached  her  across  the  intervening  space  Evelyn 
made  a  little  grimace  in  the  half  light. 

"I  declare,  Marsh,  you  are  hardly  fit  to  enter  a 
respectable  house!"  she  said. 

In  spite  of  his  doubt  of  her,  they  were  not  on  the 
worst  of  terms,  there  were  still  times  when  he  re- 
sumed his  old  role  of  the  lover,  when  he  held  her 
drifting  fancy  in  something  of  the  potent  spell  he 
had  once  been  able  to  weave  about  her.  What- 
ever their  life  together,  it  was  far  from  common- 
place, with  its  poverty  and  extravagance,  its  quar- 
relings  and  its  reconciliations,  while  back  of  it  all, 
deep-rooted  in  the  very  dregs  of  existence,  was  his 
passionate  love.  Even  his  brutal  indifference  was 
but  one  of  the  many  phases  of  his  love;  it  was  a 
manifestation  of  his  revolt  against  his  sense  of  de- 
pendence, a  dependence  which  made  it  possible  for 
him  to  love  where  his  faith  was  destroyed  and  his 
trust  gone  absolutely.  Evelyn  was  vaguely  con- 
scious of  this  and  she  was  not  sure  but  that  she 
required  just  such  a  life  as  theirs  had  become, 
but  that  she  would  have  been  infinitely  bored 
with  a  man  far  more  worth  while  than  Mar- 
shall Langham.  From  his  seat  by  the  fire  Langham 
scowled  across  at  her,  but  the  scowl  was  lost  in  the 
darkness. 

"Your  father  was  here  last  evening,  Marsh," 
Evelyn  said  at  length,  remembering  she  had  not  seen 
him  the  night  before,  and  that  he  had  breakfasted 
and  gone  before  she  was  up  that  morning. 


282     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"What  did  he  come  for?"  her  husband  asked. 

"I  think  to  see  you.  Poor  man,  he  doesn't  seem 
able  to  get  the  run  of  the  hours  you  keep ;  I  told  him 
he  could  always  find  you  here  between  four  and 
eight  in  the  morning.  I  must  say  this  little  insight 
into  your  domestic  habits  appeared  to  distress  him, 
but  I  tried  to  comfort  him, — I  told  him  you  would 
probably  outlive  us  all."  She  laughed  softly. 
"Andy  was  here  this  afternoon,  Marsh,"  she  went 
on. 

"What  the  devil  did  he  want?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Is  he  coming  back?" 

"He  didn't  mention  it,  if  he  is."  And  again  she 
laughed. 

Langham  moved  impatiently;  her  low  full- 
throated  mirth  jarred  on  his  somber  mood. 

"Were  you  in  court  to-day,  Marsh  ?"  she  inquired, 
after  a  short  silence. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  briefly. 

"Were  there  many  there?" 

"Yes." 

"Any  ladies,  Marsh?"  she  questioned,  with  sud- 
den eagerness. 

"If  you  can  call  them  that,"  he  growled. 

"Do  you  know,  Marsh,  I  had  a  strong  impulse 
to  go,  too.  Would  you  have  been  r.stonished  to  see 
me  there?"  she  asked  tentatively. 

"We  won't  have  any  of  that, — do  you  under- 
stand?"  he  said   with   fierce  authority. 


THE    HOUSE    OF    CARDS  283 

"Why  not?  It's  as  right  for  me  as  it  is  for  any 
one  else,  isn't  it?" 

"I  won't  have  it!"  he  said,  lifting  his  voice 
slightly. 

She  had  risen  and  now  stood  leaning  against  the 
arm  of  his  chair. 

"Marsh,  he  didn't  kill  McBride;  he  couldn't, — he 
wouldn't  harm  a  mouse !" 

Her  words  set  him  raging. 

"Keep  quiet,  will  you, — what  do  you  know  about 
it,  anyhow?"  he  cried  with  sullen  ferocity. 

"Don't  be  rude,  Marsh !  So  you  don't  want  me  to 
come  to  the  trial, — you  tell  me  I  can't?" 

"Did  my  father  say  anything  about  this  matter, — 
the  trial,  I  mean?"  asked  Langham  haltingly. 

"Yes,  I  think  he  spoke  of  it,  but  I  really  wasn't 
interested  because  you  see  I  am  so  sure  John  North 
is  innocent!" 

He  caught  one  of  her  hands  in  his  and  drew  her 
down  on  the  arm  of  his  chair  where  he  could  look 
into  her  eyes. 

"There  is  just  one  question  I  want  to  ask  you, 
Evelyn,  but  I  expect  you'll  answer  it  as  you  choose," 
he  said,  with  his  face  close  to  hers. 

"Then  why  ask  it?"  she  said. 

"Why, — because  I  want  to  know.  Where  were 
you  on  the  day  of  the  murder, — between  five  and 
six  o'clock?" 

"I  wish  you'd  let  me  go,  Marsh;  you're  hurting 
me — "  she  complained. 


284     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

She  struggled  for  a  moment  to  release  herself 
from  his  grasp,  then  realizing  that  her  effort  was  of 
no  avail,  she  quietly  resumed  her  former  position 
on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"You  must  answer  my  question,  come — where 
were  you  ?"  Langham  commanded. 

He  brought  his  face  close  to  hers  and  she  saw  that 
his  eyes  burnt  with  an  unhealthy  light. 

"How  silly  of  you,  Marsh,  you  know  it  was 
Thanksgiving  day, — that  we  dined  with  your  fa- 
ther." 

"I  am  not  asking  you  about  that, — that  was 
later !" 

"I  suppose  I  was  on  my  way  there  at  the  hour  you 
mention." 

"No,  you  weren't;  you  were  in  North's  rooms!" 

"If  you  were  not  drunk,  I  should  be  angry  with 
you,  Marsh, — you  are  insulting — " 

He  quitted  his  hold  on  her  and  staggered  to  his 
feet. 

"You  were  with  North — "  he  roared. 

"Do  you  want  the  servants  to  hear  you?"  she 
asked  in  an  angry  whisper. 

"Hell!" 

He  made  a  step  toward  her,  his  hand  raised. 

"Don't  do  that,  Marsh.  I  should  never  forgive 
you!" 

Evelyn  faced  him,  meeting  his  wild  glance  with" 
unshaken  composure.  The  clenched  hand  fell  at  his 
side. 


THE    HOUSE    OF    CARDS  285 

"My  God,  I  ought  to  kill  you!"  he  muttered. 

She  made  him  no  answer,  but  kept  her  eyes  fixed 
steadily  on  his  face. 

"You  were  with  North!"  Langham  repeated. 

"Well,  since  you  wish  me  to  say  it,  I  was  with 
John  North,  but  what  of  that?" 

"In  his  rooms — "  he  jerked  out. 

"No, — now  you  are  asking  too  much  of  me!" 

"I  have  proof, — proof,  that  you  went  to  his  rooms 
that  day  I"  he  stormed. 

"I  did  nothing  of  the  sort,  and  I  am  not  going  to 
quarrel  with  you  while  you  are  drunk !" 

Drunk  he  was,  but  not  as  she  understood  drunken- 
ness. In  the  terrible  extremity  to  which  his  crime 
had  brought  him  he  was  having  recourse  to  drugs. 

"You  say  you  have  proof, — don't  be  absurd, 
Marsh,  you  know  you  haven't!"  she  added  uneasily. 

"You  were  with  North  in  his  rooms — "  he  in- 
sisted. 

He  was  conscious  of  a  strange  wonder  at  himself 
that  he  could  believe  this,  and  yet  aside  from  such 
gusts  of  rage  as  these,  his  doubt  of  her  made  no 
difference  in  their  life  together.  Surely  this  was 
the  measure  of  his  degradation. 

"I  am  not  going  to  discuss  this  matter  with  you!" 
Evelyn  said. 

"Aren't  you?  Well,  I  guess  you  will.  Do  you 
know  you  may  be  summoned  into  court?" 

"Why?"  she  demanded,  with  a  nervous  start. 

"North   may  want  to  prove  that  he  was   in   his 


286     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

rooms  at  the  hour  the  murder  is  supposed  to  have 
been  committed;  all  he  needs  is  your  testimony, — it 
would  make  a  nice  scandal,  wouldn't  it?" 

"Has  he  asked  this?"  Evelyn  questioned. 

"Not  yet!" 

"Then  I  don't  think  he  ever  will,"  she  said  quietly. 

"Do  you  suppose  he  will  be  fool  enough  to  go  to 
the  penitentiary,  or  hang,  to  save  your  reputation?" 
Langham  asked  harshly. 

"I  think  Jack  North  would  be  almost  fool  enough 
for  that,"  she  answered  with  conviction. 

"Well,  I  don't, — you  were  too  easy, — men  don't 
risk  their  necks  for  your  sort!"  he  mocked.  "Look 
here,  you  had  an  infatuation  for  North, — you  ad- 
mitted it, — only  this  time  it  went  too  far !  What  was 
the  trouble,  did  he  get  sick  of  the  business  and  throw 
you  over?" 

"How  coarse  you  are,  Marsh!"  and  she  colored 
angrily,  not  at  his  words,  however,  but  at  the  mem- 
ory of  that  last  meeting  with  North. 

"It's  a  damn  rotten  business,  and  I'll  call  it  by 
what  name  I  please !  If  you  are  summoned,  it  will 
be  your  word  against  his ;  you  have  told  me  you  were 
not  in  his  rooms — " 

"I  was  not  there — "  she  said,  and  as  she  said  it 
she  wondered  why  she  did  not  tell  the  truth,  admit 
the  whole  thing  and  have  it  over  with.  She  was 
tired  of  the  wrangling,  and  her  hatred  of  North 
had  given  way  to  pity,  yet  when  Langham  replied : 

"All   right.    You   are  my   wife,   and   North   can 


THE    HOUSE    OF    CARDS  287 

hang,  but  he  shan't  save  himself  by  ruining  you  if  / 
can  help  it!" 

She  answered :  "I  have  told  you  that  I  wasn't 
there,  Marsh." 

"Would  you  swear  that  you  weren't  there?" 
Langham  asked  eagerly. 

"Yes—" 

"Even  if  it  sent  him  to  the  penitentiary?"  he  per- 
sisted. 

"Yes." 

He  took  her  by  the  shoulders  and  drew  her  near 
to  him  that  he  might  look  deep  into  her  eyes. 

"Even  if  it  hanged  him?"  he  rasped  out. 

She  felt  his  hot  breath  on  her  cheek;  she  looked 
into  his  face,  fierce,  cruel,  with  the  insane  selfishness 
of  his  one  great  fear. 

"Answer  me, — would  you  let  him  hang?"  and  he 
shook  her  roughly. 

"Would  I  let  him  hang — "  she  repeated. 

"Yes—" 

"I — I  don't  know !"  she  said  in  a  frightened  whis- 
per. 

"No,  damn  you,  I  can't  trust  you!"  and  he  flung 
her  from  him. 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  The  intangible,  un- 
formed, unthoughtout  fear  that  had  kept  her  silent 
was  crystallizing  into  a  very  tangible  conviction. 
Marshall  had  expressed  more  than  the  mere  desire 
to  be  revenged  on  North,  she  saw  that  he  was 
swayed  by  the  mastering  emotion   of  fear,   rather 


288     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

than  by  his  blazing  hate  of  the  suspected  man. 
Slowly  but  surely  there  came  to  her  an  understand- 
ing of  his  swift  descent  during  the  last  months. 

"Marsh — "  she  began,  and  hesitated. 

A  scarcely  articulate  snarl  from  Langham  seemed 
to  encourage  her  to  go  on. 

"Marsh,  where  does  the  money  come  from  that 
you — that  we — have  been  spending  so  lavishly  this 
winter?" 

"From  my  practice,"  he  said,  but  his  face  was 
averted. 

She  gave  a  frightened  laugh. 

"Oh,  no,  Marsh,  I  know  better  than  that!" 

He  swung  about  on  her. 

"Well,"  he  stormed,  "what  do  you  know?" 

"Hush,  Marsh!"  she  implored,  in  sudden  terror 
of  him. 

He  gave  her  a  sullen  glare. 

"Oh,  very  well,  bring  the  whole  damn  thing  rat- 
tling down  about  our  ears!"  he  cried. 

"Marsh, — what  do  you  mean?  Do  you  know  that 
John  North  is  innocent?"  She  spoke  with  terrify- 
ing deliberation. 

For  a  moment  they  stood  staring  into  each  other's 
eyes.  The  delicate  pallor  deepened  on  her  face, 
and  she  sank  half  fainting  into  a  chair,  but  her 
accusing  gaze  was  still  fixed  on  Langham. 

He  strode  to  her  side,  and  his  hand  gripped  hers 
with  a  cruel  force. 

"Let  him  prove  that  he  is  innocent  if  he  can,  but 


THE    HOUSE    OF    CARDS  289 

without  help  from  you!  You  keep  still  no  matter 
what  happens,  do  you  hear?  Or  God  knows  where 
this  thing  will  end — or  how!" 

"Marsh,  what  am  I  to  think!" 

"You  can  think  what  you  like  so  long  as  you  keep 
still—" 

There  was  a  hesitating  step  in  the  hall,  the  door 
was  pushed  open,  and  Judge  Langham  paused  on 
the  threshold. 

"May  I  come  in?"  he  said. 

Neither  spoke,  and  his  uneasy  glance  shifted  back 
and  forth  from  husband  to  wife.  In  that  wordless 
instant  their  common  knowledge  manifested  itself 
to  each  one  of  the  three. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 

GOOD   MEN   AND  TRUE 

THE  North  trial  was  Mount  Hope's  one  vital 
sensation.  Day  after  day  the  courtroom 
was  filled  with  eager  perspiring  humanity,  while  in 
their  homes,  on  the  streets,  and  in  the  stores  men 
talked  of  little  else.  As  for  North  himself,  he  was 
conscious  of  a  curious  sense  of  long  acquaintance 
with  the  courtroom;-  its  staring  white  walls  and 
crowded  benches  seemed  his  accustomed  surround- 
ings, and  here,  with  a  feeling  that  was  something 
between  fear  and  weariness,  he  followed  each  stage 
of  the  elaborate  game  Judge  Belknap,  for  the  de- 
fense, and  Moxlow,  for  the  prosecution,  were  play- 
ing, the  game  that  had  his  life  for  its  stake. 

When  court  adjourned,  always  in  the  twilight  of 
those  mid-winter  afternoons,  there  were  his  brief 
comforting  interviews  with  Elizabeth;  and  then  the 
long  solitary  evenings  in  his  cell;  and  the  longer 
nights,  restless  and  disturbed.  The  strain  told  fear- 
fully on  his  vigor  of  body  and  mind,  his  face  under 
imprisonment's  pallid  mask,  became  gaunt  and  heav- 
ily lined,  while  his  eyes  sunk  deep  in  their  sockets. 

At  first  he  had  not  believed  that  an  innocent  man 
290 


GOOD    MEN    AND    TRUE  291 

could  be  punished  for  a  crime  of  which  he  had 
no  knowledge;  he  was  not  so  sure  of  this  now,  for 
the  days  slipped  past  and  the  prosecution  remained 
firmly  intrenched  behind  certain  facts  which  were  in 
their  way,  conclusive.  He  told  himself  with  grim 
humor  that  the  single  weak  strand  in  the  rope  Mox- 
low  was  seeking  to  fit  about  his  neck  was  this,  that 
after  all  was  said  and  proved,  the  fact  remained,  he 
had  not  killed  Archibald  McBride! 

When  the  last  witness  for  the  state  had  been  ex- 
amined, North  took  the  stand  in  his  own  behalf.  His 
cross-examination  was  concluded  one  dull  February 
day,  and  there  came  a  brief  halt  in  the  rapid  prog- 
ress of  the  trial;  the  jury  was  sent  from  the  room 
while  Moxlow  and  Belknap  prepared  instructions 
and  submitted  them  to  the  court.  The  judge  listened 
wearily,  his  sunken  cheek  resting  against  the  palm 
of  his  thin  hand,  and  his  gaze  fixed  on  vacancy; 
when  he  spoke  his  voice  was  scarcely  audible.  Once 
he  paused  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  as  his  glance 
fell  on  the  heavy  upturned  face  of  his  son,  for  he 
saw  fear  and  entreaty  written  on  the  close-drawn 
lips  and  in  the  bloodshot  eyes. 

A  little  later  in  the  twilight  North,  with  the  sheriff 
at  his  elbow,  walked  down  the  long  corridor  on 
his  way  to  the  jail.  The  end  was  close  at  hand,  a 
day  or  two  more  and  his  fate  would  be  decided.  The 
hopelessness  of  the  situation  appalled  him,  stupified 
him.  The  evidence  of  his  guilt  seemed  overwhelm- 
ing; he  wondered  how  Elizabeth  retained  her  faith 


292     THE    JUST   AND    THE    UNJUST 

in  him.  He  always  came  back  to  his  thought  of  her, 
and  that  which  had  once  been  his  greatest  joy  now 
only  filled  him  with  despair.  Why  had  he  ever 
spoken  of  his  love, — what  if  this  grim  farce  in  which 
he  was  a  hapless  actor  blundered  on  to  a  tragic  close ! 
He  would  have  made  any  sacrifice  had  it  been  possi- 
ble for  him  to  face  the  situation  alone,  but  another 
life  was  bound  up  with  him;  he  would  drag  her 
down  in  the  ruin  that  had  overtaken  him,  and  when 
it  was  all  past  and  forgotten,  she  would  remember, — 
the  horror  of  it  would  fill  her  days ! 

On  that  night,  as  on  many  another,  North  re- 
traced step  by  step  the  ugly  path  that  wound  its 
tortuous  way  from  McBride's  back  office  to  the  cell 
in  which  he — John  North — faced  the  gallows.  But 
the  oftener  he  trod  this  path  the  more  maze-like  it 
became,  until  now  he  was  hopelessly  lost  in  its  in- 
tricacies; discouraged,  dazed,  confused,  almost  con- 
vinced that  in  some  blank  moment  of  lost  identity 
it  was  his  hand  that  had  sent  the  old  man  on  his 
long  last  journey.  As  Evelyn  Langham  had  ques- 
tioned, so  now  did  John  North :  "If  not  I,  then  who 
did  murder  Archibald  McBride?" 

In  a  vain  search  for  the  missing  handy- 
man, General  Herbert  had  opened  his  purse 
wider  than  North  or  even  Evelyn  realized.  There 
seemed  three  possibilities  in  the  instance  of  Mont- 
gomery. Either  he  knew  McBride's  murderer  and 
testified  falsely  to  shield  him ;  or  else  he  knew  noth- 
ing and  had  been  hired  by  some  unknown  enemy  to 


GOOD    MEN    AND    TRUE  293 

swear  North  into  the  penitentiary ;  or — and  the  third 
possibility  seemed  not  unlikely — it  was  he  himself 
that  had  clambered  over  the  shed  roof  after  killing 
and  robbing  the  old  merchant. 

North  turned  on  his  cot  and  his  thoughts  turned 
with  him  from  Montgomery  to  Gilmore,  who  also, 
with  uncharacteristic  cowardliness  had  fled  the  scene 
of  his  illegal  activities  and  the  indictment  that 
threatened  him  anew.  "What  was  the  gambler's 
part  in  the  tragedy?"  He  hated  North;  he  loved 
Marshall  Langham's  wife.  But  neither  of  these 
passions  shaped  themselves  into  murderous  motives. 
Langham  himself  furnished  food  for  reflection  and 
speculation.  Evidently  in  the  most  dire  financial 
difficulties;  evidently  under  Gilmore's  domination; 
evidently  burdened  with  some  guilty  knowledge, — 
but  there  was  no  evidence  against  him,  he  had  cred- 
ibly accounted  for  himself  on  that  Thanksgiving 
afternoon,  and  North  for  the  hundredth  time  dis- 
missed him  with  the  exclamation :  "Marsh  Lang- 
ham  a  murderer?    Impossible  \" 

The  first  cold  rays  of  light,  announcing  the  belated 
winter's  dawn,  touched  with  gray  fingers  the  still 
grayer  face  of  the  sleepless  prisoner.  Out  of  the 
shadows  that  they  coined  came  a  vision  of  Evelyn 
Langham.  And  again  for  the  hundredth  time, 
North  was  torn  between  the  belief  that  she,  by  her 
testimony,  might  save  him  and  the  unconquerable 
determination  to  keep  from  Elizabeth  Herbert  the 
knowledge  of  his  affair  with  Langham's  wife.     Bet- 


294     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

ter  end  his  worthless  existence  than  touch  her  fair 
life  with  this  scandal.  But  of  what  was  Evelyn 
Langham  thinking  during  the  days  of  his  trial? 
What  if  she  should  voluntarily  break  her  silence! 
Should  he  not  send  for  her — there  was  a  sound  at 
his  door.  North  started  to  his  feet  only  to  see  the 
fat  round  face  of  the  deputy  sheriff  as  he  came 
bringing  the  morning's  hot  coffee  and  thick  buttered 
bread. 

The  town  bell  was  ringing  for  nine  o'clock  when 
the  deputy  sheriff  again  appeared  to  escort  him  into 
court,  and  as  they  entered  the  room  North  saw  that 
it  was  packed  to  the  doors.  His  appearance  won  a 
moment  of  oppressive  silence,  then  came  the  shuffling 
of  feet  and  the  hum  of  whispered  conversation. 

At  the  back  of  the  room  sat  Marshall  Langham. 
He  was  huddled  up  in  a  splint-bottomed  chair  a  dep- 
uty had  placed  for  him  at  one  end  of  the  last 
row  of  benches.  Absorbed  and  aloof,  he  spoke  with 
no  one,  he  rarely  moved  except  to  mop  his  face  with 
his  handkerchief.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  pale 
shrunken  figure  that  bent  above  the  judge's  desk. 
His  father's  face  with  its  weary  dignity,  its  unsoft- 
ened  pride,  possessed  a  terrible  fascination  for  him ; 
the  very  memory  of  it,  when  he  had  quitted  the 
court  room,  haunted  him !  Pallid,  bloodless  as  a  bit 
of  yellow  parchment,  and  tortured  by  suffering,  it 
stole  into  his  dreams  at  night. 

But  at  last  the  end  was  in  sight!  If  Moxlow  had 
the  brains  he  credited  him  with,  North  would  be 


GOOD    MEN    AND    TRUE  295 

convicted,  the  law  satisfied,  and  his  case  cease 
to  be  of  vital  interest  to  any  one.  Then  of  a  sud- 
den his  fears  would  go  from  him,  he  would  be 
born  afresh  into  a  heritage  of  new  hopes  and  new 
aspirations  !  He  had  suffered  to  the  very  limit  of  his 
capacity;  there  was  such  a  thing  as  expiation,  and 
surely  he  had  expiated  his  crime. 

Now  Moxlow,  lank  and  awkward,  with  long  black 
locks  sweeping  the  collar  of  his  rusty  coat,  slipped 
from  his  chair  and  stood  before  the  judge's  desk. 
For  an  instant  Langham's  glance  shifted  from 
his  father  to  the  accused  man.  He  felt  intense 
hatred  of  him ;  to  his  warped  and  twisted  conscious- 
ness, half  mad  as  he  was  with  drink  and  drugs, 
North's  life  seemed  the  one  thing  that  stood  between 
himself  and  safety, — and  clearly  North  had  for- 
feited the  right  to  live ! 

When  Moxlow's  even  tones  fell  on  the  expectant 
hush,  Langham  writhed  in  his  seat.  Each  word,  he 
felt,  had  a  dreadful  significance;  the  big  linen  hand- 
kerchief went  back  and  forth  across  his  face  as  he 
sought  to  mop  away  the  sweat  that  oozed  from 
every  pore.  He  had  gone  as  deep  in  the  prosecutor's 
counsels  as  he  dared  go,  he  knew  the  man's  power  of 
invective,  and  his  sledge-hammer  force  in  argument; 
he  wanted  him  to  cut  loose  and  overwhelm  North 
all  in  a  breath !  The  blood  in  him  leaped  and  ting- 
led with  suppressed  excitement,  his  twitching  lips 
shaped  themselves  with  Moxlow's  words.  He  felt 
that  Moxlow  was  letting  his  opportunity  pass  him  by, 


296     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

that  after  all  he  was  not  equal  to  the  task  before 
him,  that  it  was  one  thing  to  plan  and  quite  another 
to  perform.  Men,  such  as  those  jurors,  must  be  pow- 
erfully moved  or  they  would  shrink  from  a  verdict 
of  guilty ! 

But  Moxlow  persevered  in  his  level  tones,  he  was 
not  to  be  hurried.  He  felt  the  case  as  good  as  won, 
and  there  was  the  taste  of  triumph  in  his  mouth,  for 
he  was  going  to  convict  his  man  in  spite  of  the  best 
criminal  lawyer  in  the  state!  Yet  presently  the  level 
tones  became  more  and  more  incisive,  and  Mox- 
low would  walk  toward  North,  his  long  finger  ex- 
tended, to  loose  a  perfect  storm  of  words  that  cut 
and  stung  and  insulted.  He  went  deep  into  North's 
past,  and  stripped  him  bare;  shabby,  mean,  and 
profligate,  he  pictured  those  few  short  years  of  his 
manhood  until  he  became  the  broken  spendthrift, 
desperately  in  need  of  money  and  rendered  daring 
by  the  ruin  that  had  overtaken  him. 

Moxlow's  speech  lasted  three  hours,  and  when 
he  ended  a  burning  mist  was  before  North's  eyes. 
He  saw  vaguely  the  tall  figure  of  the  prosecut- 
ing attorney  sink  into  a  chair,  and  he  gave  a  great 
sigh  of  relief.  Perhaps  North  expected  Belknap  to 
perform  some  miracle  of  vindication  in  his  be- 
half, certainly  when  his  counsel  advanced  to  the  rail 
that  guarded  the  bench  there  were  both  authority 
and  confidence  in  his  manner,  and  soon  the  dingy 
court  room  was  echoing  to  the  strident  tones  of  the 
old  criminal  lawyer's  voice.     As  the  minutes  passed, 


GOOD    MEN    AND    TRUE  297 

however,  it  became  a  certainty  with  North  that  no 
miracle  would  happen. 

Belknap  concluded  his  plea  shortly  before  six 
o'clock.  And  this  was  the  end, — this  was  the  last 
move  in  the  game  where  his  life  was  the  stake !  In 
spite  of  his  exhaustion  of  mind  and  body  North  had 
followed  the  speech  with  the  closest  attention.  He 
told  himself  now,  that  the  state's  case  was  unshaken, 
that  the  facts,  stubborn  and  damning,  were  not  to  be 
brushed  aside. 

Moxlow's  answer  to  Belknap's  plea  was  brief,  oc- 
cupying little  more  than  half  an  hour,  and  the  trial 
was  ended.  It  rested  with  the  jury  to  say  whether 
John  North  was  innocent  or  guilty.  As  the  jury 
filed  from  the  room  North  realized  this  with  a  feel- 
ing of  relief  in  that  that  at  last  the  miserable  ordeal 
was  over.  He  had  never  been  quite  bereft  of 
hope,  the  consciousness  of  his  own  innocence  had 
measurably  sustained  him  in  his  darkest  hours.  And 
now  once  more  his  imagination  swept  him  beyond 
the  present  into  the  future;  again  he  could  believe 
that  he  was  to  pass  from  that  room  a  free  man  to 
take  his  place  in  the  world  from  which  he  had  these 
many  weary  months  been  excluded.  There  was  no 
bitterness  in  his  heart  toward  any  one,  even  Mox- 
low's  harsh  denunciation  of  him  was  forgotten;  the 
law  through  its  bungling  agents  had  laid  its  savage 
hands  on  him,  that  was  all,  and  these  agents  had 
merely  done  what  they  conceived  to  be  their  duty. 

He  glanced  toward  the  big  clock  on  the  wall  above 


298     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

the  judge's  desk  and  saw  that  thirty  minutes  had  al- 
ready gone  by  since  the  jury  retired.  Another  half- 
hour  passed  while  he  studied  the  face  of  the  clock, 
but  the  door  of  the  jury  room,  near  which  Deputy- 
sheriff  Brockett  had  taken  up  his  station,  still  re- 
mained closed  and  no  sound  came  from  beyond  it. 
At  his  back  he  heard  one  man  whisper  to  another 
that  the  jurymen's  dinner  had  just  been  brought  in 
from  the  hotel. 

"That  means  another  three  quarters  of  an  hour, — ■ 
it's  their  last  chance  to  get  a  square  meal  at  the 
county's  expense !"  the  speaker  added,  which  earned 
him  a  neighboring  ripple  of  laughter. 

Judge  Langham  and  Moxlow  had  withdrawn  to 
the  former's  private  room.  Sheriff  Conklin  touched 
North  on  the  shoulder. 

"I  guess  we'd  better  go  back,  John !"  he  said.  "If 
they  want  us  to-night  they  can  send  for  us." 

Morbid  and  determined,  the  spectators  settled 
down  to  wait  for  the  verdict.  The  buzz  of  conversa- 
tion was  on  every  hand,  and  the  air  grew  thick  and 
heavy  with  tobacco  smoke,  while  relaxed  and  at  ease 
the  crowd  with  its  many  pairs  of  eyes  kept  eager 
watch  on  the  door  before  which  Brockett  kept 
guard.  No  man  in  the  room  was  wholly  un- 
affected by  the  sinister  significance  of  the  deputy's 
presence  there,  and  the  fat  little  man  with  his  shiny 
bald  head  and  stubby  gray  mustache,  silent,  preoc- 
cupied, taking  no  part  in  what  was  passing  about 
him,  became  as  the  figure  of  fate. 


GOOD    MEN    AND    TRUE  299 

The  clock  on  the  wall  back  of  the  judge  s  desk 
ticked  off  the  seconds;  now  it  made  itself  heard  in 
the  hush  that  stole  over  the  room,  again  its  mes- 
sage was  lost  in  the  confusion  of  sounds,  the  scraping 
of  feet  or  the  hum  of  idle  talk.  But  whether  the 
crowd  was  silent  or  noisy  the  clock  performed  its 
appointed  task  until  its  big  gilt  hands  told  whoever 
cared  to  look  that  the  jury  in  the  John  North  case 
had  devoted  three  hours  to  its  verdict  and  its  dinner. 

The  atmosphere  of  the  place  had  become  more  and 
more  oppressive.  Men  nodded  sleepily  in  their 
chairs,  conversation  had  almost  ceased,  when  sud- 
denly and  without  any  apparent  reason  Brockett 
swung  about  on  his  heel  and  faced  the  locked  door. 
His  whole  expression  betokened  a  feverish  in- 
terest. The  effect  of  this  was  immediate.  A  wave 
of  suppressed  excitement  passed  over  the  crowd;  ab- 
solute silence  followed;  and  then  from  beyond  the 
door,  and  distinctly  audible  in  the  stillness,  came 
the  sound  of  a  quick  step  on  the  uncarpeted  floor. 
The  clock  ticked  twice,  then  a  hand  dealt  the  door 
a  measured  blow. 

The  moment  of  silence  that  followed  this  ominous 
signal  was  only  broken  when  a  deputy  who  had 
been  nodding  half  asleep  in  his  chair,  sprang  erect 
and  hurried  from  the  room.  As  the  swinging  baize 
doors  banged  at  his  heels,  the  crowd  seemed  to 
breathe  again. 

Moxlow  was  the  first  to  arrive.  The  deputy  had 
found  him  munching  a  sandwich  on  the  court-house 


3oo     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

steps.  His  entrance  was  unhurried  and  his  manner 
quietly  confident;  he  put  aside  his  well-worn  over- 
coat and  took  his  seat  at  the  counsel  table.  A  lit- 
tle ripple  of  respectful  comment  had  greeted  his 
appearance ;  this  died  away  when  the  baize  doors  at 
the  back  of  the  room  swung  open  again  to  admit 
North  and  the  sheriff. 

North's  face  was  white,  but  he  wore  a  look  of 
high  courage.  He  understood  to  the  full  the  dread- 
ful hazard  of  the  next  few  moments.  With  never  a 
glance  to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  he  crossed  the  room 
and  took  his  seat ;  as  he  settled  himself  in  his  chair, 
Belknap  hurried  into  court. 

Judge  Langham  had  not  yet  appeared,  and  the 
crowd  focused  its  attention  on  the  shut  door  leading 
into  his  private  office.  Presently  this  door  was  seen 
to  open  slowly,  and  the  judge's  spare  erect  figure 
paused  on  the  threshold.  His  eyes,  sunken,  yet  bril- 
liant with  a  strange  light,  shifted  from  side  to  side 
as  he  glanced  over  the  room. 

Marshall  Langham  had  not  quitted  his  seat. 
There  in  his  remote  corner  under  the  gallery,  his 
blanched  face  framed  by  shadows,  his  father's 
glance  found  him.  With  his  hand  resting  tremu- 
lously on  the  jamb  of  the  door  as  if  to  steady  him- 
self, the  judge  advanced  a  step.  Once  more  his  eyes 
strayed  in  the  direction  of  his  son,  and  from  the 
gloom  of  that  dull  corner  which  Marshall  had  made 
his  own,  despair  and  terror  called  aloud  to  him.  His 
shaking  hand  dropped  to  his  side,  and  then  like  some 


GOOD    MEN    AND    TRUE  301 

pale  ghost,  he  passed  slowly  before  the  eager  eyes 
that  were  following  his  every  movement  to  his  place 
behind  the  flat-topped  desk  on  the  raised  dais. 

As  he  sank  into  his  chair  he  turned  to  the  clerk  of 
the  court  and  there  was  a  movement  of  his  thin  lips, 
but  no  sound  passed  them.  Brockett  guessed  the  or- 
der he  had  wished  to  give,  and  the  big  key  slid 
around  in  the  old-fashioned  lock  of  the  jury-room 
door.  Heavy-visaged  and  hesitating,  the  twelve  men 
filed  into  court,  and  at  sight  of  them  John  North's 
heart  seemed  to  die  within  his  breast.  He  no  longer 
hoped  nor  doubted,  he  knew  their  verdict, — he  was 
caught  in  some  intricate  web  of  circumstance!  A 
monstrous  injustice  was  about  to  be  done  him,  and 
in  the  very  name  of  justice  itself! 

The  jurors,  awkward  in  their  self-consciousness, 
crossed  the  room  and,  as  intangible  as  it  was  potent, 
a  wave  of  horror  went  with  them.  There  was  a 
noisy  scraping  of  chairs  as  they  took  their  seats,  and 
then  a  deathlike  silence. 

The  clerk  glanced  up  inquiringly  into  the  white 
face  that  was  bent  on  him.  A  scarcely  perceptible 
inclination  of  the  head  answered  him,  and  he  turned 
to  the  jury. 

"Gentlemen,  have  you  arrived  at  a  true  verdict, 
and  chosen  one  of  your  number  to  speak  for  you?" 
he  asked. 

Martin  Howe,  the  first  man  in  the  front  row  of 
the  two  solemn  lines  of  jurors,  came  awkwardly  to 
his  feet  and  said  almost  in  a  whisper : 


302      THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"We  have.  We  find  the  defendant  guilty  as 
charged  in  the  indictment" 

"Mr.  Howe,  do  you  find  this  man  guilty  as 
charged  in  the  indictment?"  asked  the  clerk. 

"I  do,"  responded  the  juror. 

Twelve  times  the  clerk  of  the  court,  calling  each 
man  by  name,  asked  this  question,  and  one  by  one 
the  jurors  stood  up  and  answered : 

"I  do." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THREE. 

THE  LAST  APPEAL 

ONE  raw  morning  late  in  April,  Mark  Leanard, 
who  worked  at  Kirby's  lumber-yard,  drove  his 
team  of  big  grade  Percherons  up  to  Kirby's  office  by 
the  railroad  tracks. 

"What's  doing?"  he  asked  of  Kirby's  clerk. 

The  clerk  handed  him  a  slip  of  paper. 

"Go  round  and  tell  Mitchell  to  get  you  out  this 
load!"  he  said. 

Leanard  went  off  whistling,  with  the  order  slip 
tucked  back  of  his  hatband.  In  the  yard,  Mitchell 
the  foreman,  gave  him  a  load  "of  sixteen-foot"  pine 
boards  and  "two  by  fours". 

"Where  to?"  the  driver  asked,  as  he  took  his  seat 
on  top  the  load. 

"To  the  jail,  they're  going  to  fence  the  yard." 

"You  mean  young  John  North?" 

"That's  what, — did  you  think  you'd  get  a  day  off 
and  take  the  old  woman  and  the  kids?"  asked  Mit- 
chell. 

It  was  a  little  past  eight  when  the  teamster  en- 
tered the  alley  back  of  the  jail  and  began  to  un- 
load.    The  fall  of  the  first  heavy  plank  took  John 

303 


304     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

North  to  his  cell  window.  For  a  long  breathless  mo- 
ment he  stood  there  peering  down  into  the  alley, 
then  he  turned  away. 

All  that  day  the  teams  from  Kirby's  continued  to 
bring  lumber  for  the  fence,  and  at  intervals  North 
heard  the  thud  of  the  heavy  planks  as  they  were 
thrown  from  the  wagons,  or  the  voices  of  the  drivers 
as  they  urged  their  horses  up  the  steep  grade  from 
the  street.  Darkness  came  at  last  and  with  it 
unbroken  quiet,  but  in  his  troubled  slumbers  that 
night  the  condemned  man  saw  the  teams  come  and 
go,  and  heard  the  fall  of  the  planks.  It  was  only 
when  the  dawn's  first  uncertain  light  stole  into  the 
cell  that  a  dreamless  sleep  gave  him  complete  for- 
getfulness. 

From  this  he  was  presently  roused  by  hearing  the 
sound  of  voices  in  the  yard,  and  then  the  sharp 
ringing  blows  of  a  hammer.  He  quitted  his  bed  and 
slipped  to  the  window;  two  carpenters  had  already 
begun  building  the  frame  work  that  was  to  carry 
the  temporary  fence  which  would  inclose  the  place 
of  execution.  It  was  his  fence;  it  would  surround 
his  gallows  that  his  death  should  not  become  a  pub- 
lic spectacle. 

As  they  went  about  their  task,  the  two  carpenters 
stole  covert  glances  up  in  the  direction  of  his  win- 
dow, but  North  stood  well  back  in  the  gloom  of  his 
cell  and  was  unseen.  Horror  could  add  nothing  to 
the  prison  pallor,  which  had  driven  every  particle  of 
color  from  his  cheeks.    Out  of  these  commonplace 


THE    LAST    APPEAL  305 

details  was  to  come  the  final  tragedy.  Those  men  in 
faded  overalls  were  preparing  for  his  death, — a 
limit  had  been  fixed  to  the  very  hours  that  he  might 
live.  On  the  morning  of  the  tenth  of  June  he  would 
see  earth  and  sky  from  that  window  for  the  last 
time! 

Chance  passers-by  with  no  very  urgent  affairs  of 
their  own  on  hand,  drifted  up  from  the  street,  and 
soon  a  little  group  had  assembled  in  the  alley  to 
watch  the  two  carpenters  at  their  work,  or  to  stare 
up  at  North's  strongly  barred  window.  Now  and 
again  a  man  would  point  out  this  window  to  some 
new-comer  not  so  well  informed  as  himself. 

Whenever  North  looked  down  into  the  alley  that 
morning,  there  was  the  human  grouping  with  its 
changing  personnel.  Men  sprawled  on  the  piles  of 
boards,  or  lounged  about  the  yard,  while  the  mur- 
mur of  their  idle  talk  reached  him  in  his  cell.  The 
visible  excuse  which  served  to  bring  them  there 
was  commonplace  enough,  but  it  was  invested  with 
the  interest  of  a  coming  tragedy,  and  North's  own 
thoughts  went  forward  to  the  time  when  the  fence 
should  be  finished,  when  somewhere  within  the 
space  it  inclosed  would  stand  his  gallows. 

Shortly  before  the  noon  whistles  blew,  two  little 
girls  came  into  the  alley  with  the  carpenters'  dinner 
pails.  They  made  their  way  timidly  through  the 
crowd,  casting  shy  glances  to  the  right  and  left;  at  a 
word  from  one  of  the  men  they  placed  the  dinner 
pails  beside  the  pile  of  lumber  and  hurried  away; 


3o6     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

but  at  the  street  corner  they  paused,  and  with  wide 
eyes  stared  up  in  the  direction  of  North's  window. 

A  moment  later  the  whistles  sounded  and  the 
idlers  dispersed,  while  the  two  mechanics  threw 
down  their  hammers  and  took  possession  of  the  lum- 
ber pile.  After  they  had  eaten,  they  lighted  their 
pipes  and  smoked  in  silent  contentment;  but  before 
their  pipes  were  finished  the  crowd  began  to  reas- 
semble, and  all  that  afternoon  the  shifting  changing 
groups  stood  about  in  the  alley,  watching  the  build- 
ing of  the  fence.  At  no  time  were  the  two  car- 
penters without  an  audience.  This  continued  from 
day  to  day  until  the  structure  was  completed,  then 
for  a  week  there  was  no  work  done  within  the  in- 
closure.  It  remained  empty  and  deserted,  with  its 
litter  of  chips,  of  blocks  and  of  board  ends. 

On  the  morning  of  the  first  Monday  in  May, 
North  was  standing  before  his  window  when  the  two 
mechanics  entered  the  yard  from  the  jail;  they 
brought  tools,  and  one  carried  a  roll  of  blue  paper 
under  his  arm;  this  he  spread  out  on  a  board  and 
both  men  examined  it  carefully.  Next  they  crossed 
to  the  lumber  pile  and  looked  it  over.  They  were 
evidently  making  some  sort  of  calculation.  Then 
they  pulled  on  their  overalls  and  went  to  work,  and 
in  one  corner  of  the  yard — the  corner  opposite 
North's  window — they  began  to  build  his  scaffold. 
The  thing  took  shape  before  his  very  eyes,  a  mon- 
strous anachronism. 

General  Herbert  had  not  been  idle  while  the  un- 


THE    LAST    APPEAL  307 

hurried  preparations  for  John  North's  execution 
were  going  forward;  whatever  his  secret  feeling 
was,  neither  his  words  nor  his  manner  conceded  de- 
feat. Belknap  had  tried  every  expedient  known  to 
criminal  practice  to  secure  a  new  trial  but  had  failed, 
and  it  was  now  evident  that  without  the  intervention 
of  the  governor,  North's  doom  was  fixed  unalter- 
ably. Belknap  quitted  Mount  Hope  for  Columbus, 
and  there  followed  daily  letters  and  almost  hourly 
telegrams,  but  General  Herbert  felt  from  the  first 
that  the  lawyer  was  not  sanguine  of  success.  Then 
on  the  eighth  of  June,  two  days  before  the  execution, 
came  a  long  message  from  the  lawyer.  His  wife  was 
ill,  her  recovery  was  doubtful;  the  governor  was 
fully  possessed  of  the  facts  in  North's  case  and  was 
considering  them,  would  the  general  come  at  once  to 
Columbus? 

This  telegram  reached  Idle  Hour  late  at  night, 
and  the  next  morning  father  and  daughter  were 
driven  into  Mount  Hope.  The  pleasant  life  with  its 
agreeable  ordering  which  the  general  had  known  for 
ten  peaceful  years  had  resolved  itself  into  a  mad 
race  with  time.  The  fearful,  the  monstrous,  seemed 
to  reach  out  and  grip  him  with  skeleton  fingers. 
Like  the  pale  silent  girl  at  his  side,  he  was  knowing 
the  horror  of  death,  and  a  horror  that  was  beyond 
death. 

They  stopped  at  the  jail  to  say  good-by  to  North, 
and  were  then  driven  rapidly  to  the  station.  The 
journey  of  about  two   hours  seemed   interminable, 


308     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

but  they  rarely  spoke.  Elizabeth  did  not  change 
the  position  she  had  assumed  when  they  took  their 
seats.  She  leaned  lightly  against  her  father's  broad 
shoulder  and  her  hands  were  clasped  in  her  lap. 

For  weeks  the  situation  had  been  absolutely  piti- 
less. Their  wrecked  efforts  were  at  the  door  of 
every  hope,  and  if  this  mission  failed — but  it  would 
not  fail !  All  they  had  come  to  ask  was  the  life  of  an 
innocent  man,  and  surely  the  governor,  unaffected 
by  local  prejudice,  must  realize  John  North's  inno- 
cence. 

It  was  two  o'clock  when  they  reached  their  desti- 
nation, and  as  they  left  the  car  the  general  said : 

"We  will  go  to  the  hotel  first.  Either  Judge  Bel- 
knap will  be  there,  or  there  will  be  some  word  for 
us." 

At  the  hotel  they  found,  not  Belknap,  but  a  letter 
which  he  had  left.  The  governor  was  suffering 
from  a  slight  indisposition  and  was  confined  to  the 
house.  Belknap  had  made  an  appointment  for  him, 
and  he  would  be  expected.  The  general  crushed  the 
sheet  of  paper  between  his  fingers  with  weary  im- 
patience. 

"We'll  see  the  governor  at  once.  I'll  call  a  car- 
riage," he  said  briefly. 

Five  minutes  later,  when  they  had  left  the  hotel, 
Elizabeth  asked: 

"What  did  Judge  Belknap  say?" 

"Nothing,  dear,  nothing — the  matter  remains  just 
as  it  was.    The  governor  is  expecting  us." 


THE    LAST    APPEAL  309 

"What  do  you  think,  father?  This  is  our  last 
hope.     Oh,  do  you  realize  that?" 

She  rested  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"It's  going  to  be  all  right  1"  her  father  assured  her. 

Then  there  was  silence  between  them  until  they 
drew  up  before  the  governor's  house. 

Side  by  side  they  mounted  the  steps.  The  gen- 
eral's ring  was  answered  by  a  man-servant,  who 
took  their  cards  after  showing  them  into  a  small 
reception-room.  He  returned  after  a  moment  to 
say  that  the  governor  was  occupied  and  could 
not  possibly  see  them  until  the  afternoon.  The  gen- 
eral's face  was  blank.  He  had  never  considered  it 
possible  that  the  governor  would  refuse  to  see  him  at 
his  convenience.  Certainly  there  had  been  a  time 
when  no  politician  of  his  party  in  the  state  nor  in  the 
nation  would  have  ventured  this;  but  it  was  evi- 
dent the  last  ten  years  had  made  a  difference  in  his 
position.  Elizabeth  gazed  up  fearfully  into  her 
father's  face.  What  did  this  mean;  was  it  merely 
a  subterfuge  on  the  governor's  part  to  avoid  a  pain- 
ful interview?  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  would  have  been 
better  had  she  remained  at  the  hotel.  Her  father 
read  her  thoughts. 

"It's  all  right — be  brave!"  he  whispered.  He 
turned  to  the  servant.  "Will  you  kindly  learn  for 
me  at  what  hour  the  governor  will  be  at  liberty  ?"  he 
said  stiffly. 

"Oh,  he  must  see  us  !"  cried  Elizabeth,  the  moment 
they  were  alone. 


310     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Of  course  he  must,  and  he  will,"  the  general  said. 

But  the  governor's  refusal  to  see  them  at  once 
rankled  within  him.  His  sunburnt  cheeks  were  a 
brick  red  and  there  was  an  angry  light  in  his  gray 
eyes.  The  servant  did  not  return,  but  in  his  stead 
came  a  dapper  young  fellow,  the  governor's  private 
secretary. 

"General  Herbert?"  he  asked  inquiringly,  as  he 
entered  the  room. 

The  general  acknowledged  his  identity  by  an  in- 
clination of  the  head. 

"The  governor  will  be  most  happy  to  see  you  at 
any  time  after  three  o'clock.  May  I  tell  him  you 
will  call  then  ?"  asked  the  secretary,  and  he  glanced, 
not  without  sympathy  and  understanding,  at  Eliza- 
beth. 

"We  will  return  at  three,"  the  general  said. 

"He  regrets  his  inability  to  see  you  now,"  mur- 
mured the  secretary,  and  again  he  permitted  his 
glance  to  dwell  on  the  girl's  pale  beauty. 

He  bowed  them  from  the  room  and  from  the 
house.  When  the  door  closed  on  them,  Elizabeth 
turned  swiftly  to  her  father. 

"He  is  cruel,  heartless,  to  keep  us  in  suspense.  A 
word,  a  moment — might  have  meant  so  much  to 
us — "  she  sobbed. 

A  spasm  of  pain  contracted  her  father's  rugged 
features. 

"He  will  see  us;  he  is  a  busy  man  with  unceasing 
demands  on  his  time,  but  we  have  this  appointment. 


THE    LAST    APPEAL  311 

Be  brave,  dear,  just  a  little  longer!"  he  said  ten- 
derly. 

"I'll  try  to  be,  but  there  is  only  to-day — and  to- 
morrow— "  she  faltered. 

"Hush,  you  must  not  think  of  that !" 

"I  can  think  of  nothing  else!" 

How  they  lived  through  the  long  hours  the  gen- 
eral never  knew,  but  at  last  three  o'clock  came  and 
they  were  again  at  the  governor's  door.  It  was 
opened  by  the  servant  who  had  admitted  them  earlier 
in  the  day. 

"We  have  an  appointment  with  the  governor," 
said  General  Herbert  briefly,  pushing  past  him. 

"Yes,  sir;  I  will  tell  him  you  are  here  as  soon  as 
he  comes  in,"  said  the  man. 

"He's  out,  then?"  and  General  Herbert  wheeled 
on  the  man. 

"Yes,  but  he's  expected  back  any  moment,  sir." 

"It  will  be  all  right,"  her  father  again  assured 
Elizabeth,  speaking  with  forced  cheerfulness  when 
they  were  alone. 

Ten — twenty  minutes  slipped  by;  minutes  that 
were  infinitely  precious,  then  a  step  sounded  in  the 
hall.  It  was  the  servant  who  entered  the  room, 
however.  He  came  to  say  that  a  message  had  that 
moment  been  received  from  the  governor;  he  was 
detained  at  the  capitol,  and  probably  would  not 
reach  home  before  five  o'clock. 

"Does  he  say  he  will  see  us  there?"  asked  the  gen- 
eral. 


312      THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"He  didn't  mention  you,  sir;  perhaps  he  has  for- 
gotten, but  I  thought  you'd  wish  to  know." 

"Thank  you."  The  general  turned  to  his  daugh- 
ter.    "I  think  we'd  better  go  to  the  capitol." 

The  carriage  was  still  at  the  door  and  they  hur- 
ried out  to  it  and  were  whirled  across  town.  As  they 
came  to  a  stand  before  the  capitol,  General  Herbert, 
without  waiting  for  Elizabeth,  sprang  out  and  strode 
into  the  building  and  up  the  familiar  stairs  to  the  ex- 
ecutive chambers.  The  door  of  the  outer  office  stood 
open.     A  colored  janitor  was  sweeping  the  room. 

"Who  you  want,  boss?"  he  asked,  stopping  his 
work  and  leaning  on  the  handle  of  his  broom. 

"The  governor — where  is  he?"  demanded  the 
general. 

"You's  too  late,  boss,  he's  done  gone  out." 

A  sense  of  futility  and  defeat  almost  overwhelmed 
the  old  general.  He  was  silent  for  a  moment  since 
he  dared  not  trust  himself  to  speak,  then  he  asked : 

"Is  the  governor's  secretary  here?" 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"Him  and  the  governor  left  together.  There  ain't 
no  one  here  now,  they've  done  for  the  day." 

"Then  the  governor  has  gone  home?" 

"I  expect  that's  where  he  went,  yes,  sir." 

General  Herbert  swung  about  and  hurried  from 
the  room.      In  the  hall  he  met  Elizabeth. 

"Did  you  see  him?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

"Not  here,"  he  answered  huskily. 

Her  eyes  grew  wide  with  terror,  and  she  swayed 


THE    LAST    APPEAL  313 

as  if  about  to  fall,  but  her  father  put  out  a  sun- 
burnt hand  for  her  support. 

"We  must  go  back!"  he  said,  mastering  himself 
at  sight  of  her  suffering.  "We  have  missed  him 
here,  he's  gone  home,  that  is  all — it  means  nothing." 

They  drove  in  silence  through  the  streets.  Pallid, 
fearful,  and  speechless  in  her  suffering,  Elizabeth 
leaned  back  in  her  seat.  The  hope  that  had  sus- 
tained her  was  lost  in  the  realization  of  defeat. 
There  was  nothing  beyond ;  this  was  failure,  com- 
plete and  final;  the  very  end  of  effort!  Suddenly 
her  father's  big  hand  closed  about  the  small  one 
which  rested  in  her  lap. 

"You  must  not  give  up;  I  tell  you  it  will  be  all 
right!"  he  insisted. 

"He  is  avoiding  us !"  she  cried  chokingly.  "Oh, 
what  can  we  do  when  he  will  not  even  see  us !" 

"Yes,  he  will.  We  have  been  unfortunate,  that 
is  all." 

"Wretchedly  unfortunate !"  she  moaned. 

They  had  reached  their  destination,  and  this  time 
slowly  and  uncertainly  they  ascended  the  steps. 
With  his  hand  upon  the  bell,  the  general  hesitated 
for  an  instant;  so  much  was  at  stake!  Then  a  bell 
sounded  in  some  distant  part  of  the  house,  and  after 
a  brief  interval  the  door  was  opened  to  them. 

"I  am  sorry,  sir,  but  the  governor  has  not  re- 
turned." 

The  general  thrust  a  bill  into  the  man's  hand, 
saying : 


314     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"The  moment  he  comes  in,  see  that  he  gets  my 
card." 

Again  there  was  delay.  General  Herbert,  con- 
sumed by  impatience,  crossed  and  recrossed  the 
room.  Elizabeth  stood  by  the  window,  one  hand 
parting  the  heavy  curtains.  It  was  already  late 
afternoon.  The  day  had  been  wasted,  and  the  hours 
that  remained  to  them  were  perilously  few.  But  more 
than  the  thought  of  North's  death,  the  death  itself 
filled  her  mind  with  unspeakable  imaginings.  The 
power  to  control  her  thoughts  was  lost,  and  her  ter- 
rors took  her  where  they  would,  until  North's  very 
death  struggles  became  a  blinding  horror.  Some- 
where in  the  silent  house,  a  door  opened  and  closed. 

"At  last!"  said  the  general,  under  his  breath. 

But  it  was  only  the  governor's  secretary  who  en- 
tered the  room.  He  halted  in  the  doorway  and 
glanced  from  father  to  daughter.  There  was  no  mis- 
taking the  look  on  his  face. 

"How  much  longer  are  we  to  be  kept  in  doubt?" 
asked  General  Herbert,  in  a  voice  that  indicated  both 
his  dread  and  his  sense  of  insult. 

"The  governor  deeply  regrets  that  there  should 
have  been  this  delay — "  began  the  secretary. 

"He  is  ready  to  see  us  now?"  General  Herbert 
interrupted. 

"I  regret—" 

"What  do  you  regret?  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that  he  will  not  see  us?"  demanded  the  general. 

"The  governor  has  left  town." 


THE    LAST    APPEAL  315 

The  angry  color  flamed  into  the  old  man's  cheeks. 
His  sorely  tried  patience  was  on  the  point  of  giving 
way,  but  a  cry  from  the  window  recalled  him. 

"Where  has  he  gone?" 

"He  left  for  the  East  at  four  o'clock,"  faltered  the 
secretary,  after  a  moment  of  wretched  irresolution. 

The  general's  face  became  white,  as  his  anger 
yielded  to  a  more  powerful  emotion. 

"Impossible!"  he  cried. 

"The  North  matter  has  been  left  in  my  hands," 
said  the  secretary  haltingly. 

The  general's  hope  revived  as  he  heard  this.  He 
stepped  to  Elizabeth's  side  and  rested  his  hand  pro- 
tectingly  on  her  shoulder. 

"You  have  the  governor's  decision?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  secretary  unsteadily. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"What  is  it?"  The  general's  voice  was  strained 
and  unnatural. 

"He  regrets  it,  but  he  does  not  deem  it  proper  for 
him  to  interfere  with  the  decision  of  the  court.  He 
has  had  the  most  eminent  legal  advice  in  this  case — " 

A  choking  inarticulate  cry  from  Elizabeth  inter- 
rupted him. 

"My  God !"  cried  her  father,  as  Elizabeth's  grop- 
ing hands  clung  to  him.  He  felt  the  shudder  that 
wrenched  her  slim  body.  "Be  brave !"  he  whispered, 
slipping  his  arms  about  her. 

"Oh,  father— father— "  she  sobbed. 

"We  will  go  home,"  said  the  general. 


316     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

He  looked  up  from  the  bowed  head  that  rested 
against  his  shoulder,  expecting  to  find  the  secretary 
still  standing  by  the  door,  but  that  dapper  young 
man  had  stolen  from  the  room. 

"Yes,  take  me  home,"  said  Elizabeth. 

He  led  her  from  the  house  and  the  door  closed  be- 
hind them  on  their  last  hope.  Both  shared  in  the 
bitter  consciousness  of  this.  They  had  been  brought 
face  to  face  with  the  inexorable  demands  of  life, 
they  had  been  foredoomed  to  failure  from  the  very 
beginning. 

"Father?"  she  gasped. 

"Yes,  dear?"     He  spoke  with  infinite  tenderness. 

"Is  there  nothing  more?" 

"Nothing,  but  to  go  home." 

Deeply  as  he  felt  for  her,  he  knew  that  he  realized 
only  an  infinitesimal  part  of  her  suffering. 

"The  governor  has  refused  to  interfere?" 

"You  heard  what  he  said,  dear,"  he  answered 
simply. 

"And  I  have  to  go  back  and  tell  John  that  after 
all  our  hopes,  after  all  our  prayers — " 

"Perhaps  you  would  better  not  go  back,"  he  sug- 
gested. 

"Not  go  back?  No,  I  must  see  him!  You  would 
not  deny  me  this — " 

"I  would  deny  you  nothing,"  said  her  father  fer- 
vently. 

"Dismiss  the  carriage,  and  we  will  walk  to  the 
station;  there  is  time?" 


THE    LAST    APPEAL  317 

"Yes." 

For  a  little  while  they  walked  on  in  silence,  the 
girl's  hands  clasped  about  her  father's  arm. 

"I  can  not  understand  it  yet!"  said  Elizabeth  at 
length,  speaking  in  a  fearful  whisper.  "It  is  in- 
credible.    Oh,  can't  you  save  him — can't  you?" 

The  general  did  not  trust  himself  to  answer  her. 

"We  have  failed.  Do  you  think  it  would  have 
been  different  if  Judge  Belknap  had  not  been  called 
away  ?" 

General  Herbert  shook  his  head. 

"And  now  we  must  go  back  to  him !  We  were  to 
have  telegraphed  him ;  we  won't  now,  will  we?" 

"My  poor,  poor  Elizabeth!"  cried  the  general 
brokenly. 

"How  shall  we  ever  tell  him!" 

"I  will  go  alone,"  said  the  general. 

"No,  no — I  must  see  him !  You  are  sure  we  have 
time  to  catch  our  train — if  we  should  miss  it — "  and 
the  thought  gave  her  a  sudden  feverish  energy. 

"You  need  not  hurry,"  her  father  assured  her. 

"But  look  at  your  watch !"  she  entreated. 

"We  have  half  an  hour,"  he  said. 

"You  can  think  of  nothing  more  to  do  ?"  she  asked, 
after  another  brief  silence. 

"Nothing,  dear." 

Little  was  said  until  they  boarded  the  train, 
but  in  the  drawing-room  of  the  Pullman  which  her 
father  had  been  able  to  secure,  Elizabeth's  re- 
straint forsook  her,  and  she  abandoned  herself  to 


318     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

despair.  Her  father  silently  took  his  place  at  her 
side.  Oppressed  and  preoccupied,  the  sting  of 
defeat  unmitigated,  he  was  struggling  with  the  prob- 
lem of  the  future.  The  morrow  with  its  hideous 
tragedy  seemed  both  the  end  and  the  beginning. 
One  thing  was  clear  to  him,  they  must  go  away  from 
Idle  Hour  where  North  had  been  so  much  a  part  of 
Elizabeth's  life.  Nothing  had  been  added  to  this 
decision  when  at  length  the  train  pulled  into  Mount 
Hope. 

"We  are  home,  dear/'  he  said  gently. 


She   abandoned   herself   to   despair. 


e    • ©«  .i         coo*. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FOUR 

THE  LAST  LONG  DAY 

ALONG  day,  the  last  of  many  long  days  he  told 
himself,  was  ended,  and  John  North  stood  by 
his  window.  Below  in  the  yard  into  which  he  was 
looking,  but  within  the  black  shadow  cast  by  the 
jail,  was  the  gallows.  Though  indistinguishable  in 
the  darkness,  its  shape  was  seared  on  his  brain,  for 
he  had  lived  in  close  fellowship  with  all  it  empha- 
sized. It  was  his  gallows,  it  had  grown  to  comple- 
tion under  his  very  eyes  that  it  might  destroy  him  in 
the  last  hour. 

There  had  been  for  him  a  terrible  fascination  in 
the  gaunt  thing  that  gave  out  the  odor  of  new  wood ; 
a  thing  men  had  made  with  their  own  hands;  a 
clumsy  device  to  inflict  a  brutal  death;  a  left-over 
from  barbarism  which  denied  every  claim  of  civili- 
zation and  Christianity!  Now,  as  the  moon  crept 
up  from  behind  the  distant  hills,  the  black  shadows 
retreated,  and  as  he  watched,  timber  by  timber  the 
gallows  stood  forth  distinct  in  the  soft  clear  light. 
In  a  few  hours,  unless  the  governor  interfered,  he 
would  pass  through  the  door  directly  below  his  win- 
dow.   He  pictured  the  group  of  grave-faced  nervous 

319 


320     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

officials,  he  saw  himself  bound  and  blindfolded  and 
helpless  in  their  midst. 

His  fingers  closed  convulsively  about  the  iron  bars 
that  guarded  his  window,  but  the  feeling  of  horror 
that  suddenly  seized  him  was  remote  from  self- 
pity.  He  was  thinking  of  Elizabeth.  What  un- 
speakable wretchedness  he  had  brought  into  her  life, 
and  he  was  still  to  bequeath  her  this  squalid  brutal 
death !  It  was  the  crowning  shame  and  misery  to 
the  long  months  of  doubt  and  fearful  suspense. 

Up  from  the  earth  came  the  scent  of  living 
growing  things.  The  leaves  of  the  great  maples  in 
the  court-house  grounds  rustled  in  the  spring  breeze, 
there  was  the  soft  incessant  hum  of  insect  life,  and 
over  all  the  white  wonderful  moonlight.  But  he 
had  no  part  in  this  universal  renewal — he  was  to 
die  his  purposeless  unheroic  death  in  the  morning. 
For  himself  he  could  almost  believe  he  no  longer 
cared ;  he  had  fully  accepted  the  idea.  He  had  even 
taken  his  farewell  of  the  few  in  Mount  Hope  who 
had  held  steadfast  in  their  friendship,  and  there 
only  remained  for  him  to  die  decently ;  to  meet  the 
inevitable  with  whatever  courage  there  was  in  his 
soul. 

He  heard  Brockett's  familar  step  and  suddenly, 
intent  and  listening,  he  faced  the  door;  but  the 
deputy  came  slowly  down  the  corridor  and  as  he 
entered  the  cell,  paused,  and  shook  his  head. 

"No  word  yet,  John,"  he  said  regretfully. 

"Is  the  train  in?"  asked  North, 


THE    LAST    LONG    DAY  321 

"Yes,  Conklin  went  down  to  meet  it.  He's  just 
back ;  I  guess  they'll  come  on  the  ten-thirty." 

North  again  turned  listlessly  toward  the  window. 

"I  wouldn't  own  myself  beat  yet,  John !"  said  the 
deputy. 

"I've  gone  down  at  every  crisis !  I  didn't  think  the 
grand  jury  would  indict  me,  I  didn't  think  I  would 
be  convicted  at  the  trial!"  He  made  a  weary 
gesture.  "What  right  have  I  to  think  they  will  be 
able  to  influence  the  governor?" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  broken  by  the  dep- 
uty. 

"I'll  be  outside,  and  if  you  want  anything,  let  me 
know." 

It  was  the  death-watch,  and  poor  Brockett  was  to 
keep  it. 

North  fell  to  pacing  his  narrow  bounds.  Without, 
the  wind  had  risen  and  presently  there  came  the 
patter  of  rain  on  the  roof.  Thick  darkness  again  en- 
veloped the  jail  yard;  and  the  gallows — his  gallows 
■ — was  no  longer  visible.  For  an  hour  or  more  the 
storm  raged  and  then  it  passed  as  swiftly  as  it  had 
gathered.  Once  more  he  became  aware  of  the  inces- 
sant hum  of  the  insect  world,  and  the  rustling  of  the 
great  maples  in  the  court-house  grounds. 

As  he  listened  to  these  sounds,  from  somewhere 
off  in  the  distance  he  heard  the  shriek  of  an  engine's 
whistle.  They  were  coming  now  if  they  came  at  all ! 
In  spite  of  himself,  his  hope  revived.  To  believe 
that  they  had  failed  was  out  of  the  question,  and 


322      THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

the  beat  of  his  pulse  and  the  throb  of  his  heart  quick- 
ened. 

He  endured  twenty  minutes  of  suspense,  then  he 
heard  voices;  Brockett  threw  open  the  door,  and 
Elizabeth,  white-faced  and  shaking,  was  before  him. 

"John  V  she  cried,  with  such  anguish  that  in  one 
terrible  instant  all  hope  went  from  him. 

His  soul  seemed  to  stand  naked  at  the  very  gates 
of  death,  and  the  vision  of  his  brutal  ending  came 
before  his  burning  eyes.  Words  of  protest  trembled 
on  his  lips.  This  endured  but  for  an  imperceptible 
space  of  time,  and  then  that  larger  pity  which  was 
not  for  himself  but  for  Elizabeth,  took  him  quickly 
to  her  side. 

"John — "  she  cried  again,  and  held  out  her  arms. 

"Do  not  speak — I  know,"  he  said. 

Her  head  drooped  on  his  shoulder,  and  her 
strength  seemed  to  forsake  her. 

"I  know,  dear!"  he  repeated. 

"We  could  do  nothing!"  she  gasped. 

"You  have  done  everything  that  love  and  devo- 
tion could  do  I" 

She  looked  up  into  his  face. 

"You  are  not  afraid?"  she  whispered,  clinging  to 
him. 

"I  think  not,"  he  said  simply. 

"You  are  very  brave,  John — I  shall  try  to  be 
brave,  also." 

"My  dear,  dear  Elizabeth!"  he  murmured  sadly, 
and  they  were  silent. 


THE    LAST    LONG    DAY  323 

Without,  in  the  corridor,  an  occasional  whispered 
word  passed  between  General  Herbert  and  the 
deputy. 

'The  governor  would  do  nothing,  John,"  Eliza- 
beth faltered  at  length. 

"I  understand,  dear,"  he  said  tenderly. 

"He  would  not  even  see  us;  we  went  repeatedly 
to  his  house  and  to  the  capitol,  and  in  the  end  we 
saw  his  secretary.  The  governor  had  left  town ;  he 
never  intended  to  see  us !  To  reach  this  end — when 
nothing  can  be  done — "  Her  eyes  grew  wide  with 
horror. 

He  drew  her  closer,  and  touched  her  cold  lips 
with  his. 

"There  is  one  thing  you  can  do  that  will  be  a  com- 
fort to  me,  Elizabeth;  let  your  father  take  you 
home!" 

"No,  no,  I  must  stay  till  morning,  until  the  day 
breaks — don't  send  me  away,  John!"  she  entreated. 

"It  will  be  easier — " 

Yet  his  arms  still  held  her  close  to  him,  and  he 
gazed  down  into  the  upturned  face  that  rested 
against  his  breast.  It  was  his  keen  sense  of  her 
suffering  that  weighed  on  him  now.  What  a  wreck 
he  had  made  of  her  life — what  infinite  compassion 
and  pity  he  felt !     He  held  her  closer. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  she  asked. 

But  he  could  not  translate  his  feeling  into  words. 

"Oh,  if  there  were  only  something  we  could  do!" 
she  moaned. 


324     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Through  all  these  weeks  you  have  given  me  hope 
and  strength  !  You  say  that  I  am  brave !  Your  love 
and  devotion  have  lifted  me  out  of  myself;  I  would 
be  ashamed  to  be  a  coward  when  I  think  of  all  you 
have  endured!" 

He  felt  her  shiver  in  his  arms,  then  in  the  mo- 
mentary silence  the  court-house  bell  struck  the  half- 
hour. 

"I  thought  it  was  later,"  she  said,  as  the  stroke  of 
the  bell  died  out  in  the  stillness. 

"It  is  best  that  you  should  leave  this  place,  dear- 
est—" 

"Don't  send  me  from  you,  John — I  can  not  bear 
that  yet — "  she  implored. 

Pityingly  and  tenderly  his  eyes  looked  deep  into 
hers.  What  had  she  not  endured  for  his  sake! 
And  the  long  days  of  effort  had  terminated  in  this 
last  agony  of  disappointment;  but  now,  and  almost 
mercifully,  he  felt  the  fruitless  struggle  was  ended. 
All  that  remained  was  the  acceptance  of  an  inex- 
orable fate.  He  drew  forward  his  chair  for  her,  and 
as  she  sank  wearily  into  it,  he  seated  himself  on 
the  edge  of  the  cot  at  her  side. 

"McBride's  murderer  will  be  found  one  of  these 
days,  and  then  all  the  world  will  know  that  what  you 
believe  is  the  truth,"  said  North  at  length. 

"Yes,  dear,"  replied  Elizabeth  simply. 

Some  whispered  word  of  General  Herbert's  or 
the  deputy's  reached  them  in  the  interval  of  silence 
that  ensued.     Then  presently  in  that  silence  they 


THE    LAST    LONG    DAY  325 

had  both  feared  to  break,  the  court-house  bell  rang 
again.     It  was  twelve  o'clock.     Elizabeth  rose. 

"I  am  going  now — John — "  she  said,  in  a  voice 
so  low  that  he  scarcely  heard  her.  "I  am  going 
home.  You  wish  it — and  you  must  sleep — "  She 
caught  his  hands  and  pressed  them  to  her  heart. 
"Oh,  my  darling — good  night — " 

She  came  closer  in  his  arms,  and  held  up  her  lips 
for  him  to  kiss.  The  passion  of  life  had  given  place 
to  the  chill  of  death.  It  was  to-day  that  he  was  to 
die!  No  longer  could  they  think  of  it  as  a  thing 
of  to-morrow,  for  at  last  the  day  had  come. 

"Yes,  you  must  go,"  he  said,  in  the  same  low  voice 
in  which  she  had  spoken. 

"I  love  you,  John — " 

"As  I  do  you,  beloved — "  he  answered  gently. 

"Oh,  I  can  not  leave  you !  My  place  is  here  with 
you  to  the  very  last — do  not  send  me  away !" 

"I  could  not  bear  it,"  he  said  steadily.  "You 
must  leave  Mount   Hope  to-morrow — to-day — " 

He  felt  her  arms  tighten  about  his  neck. 

"To-day?"  she  faltered  miserably.    "To-day — " 

Her  arms  relaxed.  He  pressed  his  lips  to  her  pale 
cold  lips  and  to  her  eyes,  from  which  the  light  of 
consciousness  had  fled. 

"General  Herbert!"  he  called. 

Instantly  the  general  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"She  has  fainted !"  said  North. 

Her  father  turned  as  if  with  some  vague  notion  of 
asking  assistance,  but  North  checked  him. 


326     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"For  God's  sake  take  her  away  while  she  is  still 
unconscious!"  and  he  placed  her  in  her  father's 
arms.  For  a  moment  his  hand  lingered  on  the  gen- 
eral's shoulder.  "Thank  you — good-by!"  and  he 
turned  away  abruptly. 

"Good-by — God  bless  you,  John!"  said  the  gen- 
eral in  a  strained  voice. 

He  seemed  to  hesitate  for  a  moment  as  if  he 
wished  to  say  more;  then  as  North  kept  his  back- 
turned  on  him,  he  gathered  the  unconscious  girl 
closer  in  his  arms,  and  walked  from  the  room. 

North  remained  by  the  window,  his  hands  clutch- 
ing the  bars  with  convulsive  strength,  then  the  wind 
which  blew  fresh  and  strong  in  his  face  brought  him 
the  sound  of  wheels;  but  this  quickly  died  out  in 
the  distance. 

Brockett  tiptoed  into  the  cell. 

"I  am  going  to  lie  down  and  see  if  I  can  get 
some  sleep,"  North  said,  throwing  off  his  coat.  "If 
I  sleep,  call  me  as  soon  as  it  is  light — good  night." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FIVE 

ON  THE  HIGH  IRON  BRIDGE 

AS  the  weeks  had  passed  Marshall  Langham  had 
j[~\>  felt  his  fears  lift  somewhat,  but  the  days  and 
nights  still  remained  endless  cycles  of  torment. 
Wherever  he  turned  and  with  whomsoever  he  talked 
the  North  case  was  certain  sooner  or  later  to  be  men- 
tioned. There  were  hideous  rumors  afloat,  too,  con- 
cerning General  Herbert's  activity  in  behalf  of  the 
condemned  man,  and  in  spite  of  his  knowledge  of  the 
law,  he  was  profoundly  affected  by  this  wild  gossip, 
this  ignorant  conjecture,  which  reason  and  experi- 
ence alike  told  him  misstated  every  fact  that  bore 
on  the  situation.  He  was  learning  just  how  de- 
pendent he  had  been  on  Gilmore;  no  strange  imagin- 
ings, no  foolish  vagaries  had  ever  beset  the  gambler, 
his  brutal  vigor  had  yielded  nothing  to  terror  or 
remorse. 

He  knew  the  Herberts  had  gone  to  Columbus  to 
make  a  final  appeal  to  the  governor.  Father  and 
daughter  had  been  driven  across  the  Square  by 
Thompson,  the  Idle  Hour  foreman,  and  they  had 
passed  below  the  windows  of  Langham's  office  on 
their  way  to  the  station.     It  had  seemed  to  him  an 

327 


328     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

iniquitous  thing  that  the  old  statesman's  position  and 
influence  should  be  brought  into  the  case  to  defeat 
his  hopes,  to  rob  him  of  his  vengeance,  to  imperil  his 
very  safety.  Racked  and  tortured,  he  had  no  exist- 
ence outside  his  fear  and  hate.  All  that  day  Lang- 
ham  haunted  the  railway  station.  If  any  word  did 
come  over  the  wires,  he  wished  to  know  it  at  once, 
and  if  General  Herbert  returned  he  wished  to  see 
him,  since  his  appearance  must  indicate  success  or 
failure.  If  it  were  failure  the  knowledge  would 
come  none  too  quickly ;  if  success,  in  any  degree,  he 
contemplated  instant  flight,  for  he  was  obsessed  by 
the  belief  that  then  he  would  somehow  stand  in 
imminent  peril. 

He  was  pacing  the  long  platform  when  the  after- 
noon train  arrived,  but  his  bloodshot  eyes  searched 
the  crowd  in  vain  for  a  sight  of  General  Herbert's 
stalwart  figure. 

"He  has  just  one  more  chance  to  get  back  in 
time!"  he  told  himself.  "If  he  doesn't  come  to-night 
it  means  I  am  safe!" 

His  bloodless  lips  sucked  in  the  warm  air.  Safe! 
It  was  the  first  time  in  months  he  had  dared  to  tell 
himself  this;  yet  a  moment  later  and  his  fears 
were  crowding  back  crushing  him  to  earth.  The 
general  might  do  much  in  the  six  hours  that  re- 
mained to  him. 

He  was  back  at  his  post  when  the  night  train  drew 
in,  and  his  heart  gave  a  great  leap  in  his  breast  as 
he  saw  the  general  descend  from  the  platform  of  the 


ON    THE    HIGH    IRON    BRIDGE      329 

sleeper  and  then  turn  to  assist  Elizabeth.  She  was 
closely  veiled,  but  one  glance  at  the  pair  sufficed. 

Langham  passed  down  the  long  platform.  The 
flickering  gas-jets  that  burned  at  intervals  under  the 
wide  eaves  of  the  low  station  were  luminous  suns,  his 
brain  whirled  and  his  step  was  unsteady.  He  passed 
out  into  the  night,  and  when  the  friendly  darkness 
had  closed  about  him,  slipped  a  feverish  palm  across 
his  eyes  and  thanked  God  that  his  season  of  despair 
was  at  an  end.  He  had  suffered  and  endured  but 
now  he  was  safe ! 

Before  him  the  train,  with  its  trailing  echoes,  had 
dwindled  away  into  the  silence  of  the  spring  night. 
Scarcely  conscious  of  the  direction  he  was  taking  he 
walked  down  the  track  toward  the  iron  bridge.  It 
was  as  if  some  miracle  of  healing  had  come  to  him; 
his  heavy  step  grew  light,  his  shaking  hands  became 
steady,  his  brain  clear;  in  those  first  moments  of 
security  he  was  the  ease-seeking,  pleasure-loving 
Marshall  Langham  of  seven  months  before. 

As  he  strode  forward  he  became  aware  that  some 
one  was  ahead  of  him  on  the  track,  then  presently 
at  the  bridge  a  match  was  struck,  and  his  eyes, 
piercing  the  intervening  darkness,  saw  that  a  man 
had  paused  there  to  light  a  pipe.  He  was  quite  near 
the  bridge  himself  when  another  match  flared, 
and  he  was  able  to  distinguish  the  figure  of  this  man 
who  was  crouching  back  of  one  of  the  iron  girders. 
A  puff  of  wind  extinguished  the  second  match  al- 
most immediately,  and  after  a  moment  or  two  in 


330     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

which  the  lawyer  continued  to  advance,  a  third 
match  was  struck ;  at  the  same  instant  the  man  must 
have  heard  the  sound  of  Langham's  approach,  for 
as  he  brought  the  blazing  match  to  the  bowl  of  a 
short  black  pipe,  he  turned,  standing  erect,  and 
Langham  caught  sight  of  his  face.  It  was 
Joe  Montgomery.  Another  playful  gust  found  Mr. 
Montgomery's  match  and  the  two  men  stood  facing 
each  other  in  the  darkness. 

Langham  had  been  about  to  speak  but  the  words 
died  on  his  lips;  a  wave  of  horror  passed  over  him. 
He  had  known  not  quite  ten  minutes  of  security  and 
now  it  was  at  an  end;  his  terror  all  revived;  this 
hulking  brute  who  faced  him  there  in  the  darkness 
menaced  his  safety,  a  few  drinks  might  give  him 
courage  to  go  to  Moxlow  or  to  the  general  with  his 
confession.     How  was  he  to  deal  with  the  situation? 

"There  ain't  much  Irish  about  me!"  said  Mont- 
gomery, with  a  casual  oath. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  The  handy-man 
was  searching  his  pockets  for  a  fresh  match. 

"Why  have  you  come  back,  Joe?"  asked  Langham 
finally,  when  he  could  command  himself. 

Montgomery  started  violently  and  his  pipe  fell 
from  his  mouth. 

"Is  that  you,  Boss  Langham?"  he  faltered. 

He  stared  about  him  seeking  to  pierce  the  dark- 
ness, fearful  that  Langham  was  not  alone,  that  Gil- 
more  might  be  somewhere  near. 

"Are  you  by  yourself,  boss?"  he  asked,  and  a 


ON    THE    HIGH    IRON    BRIDGE     331 

tremor  stole  into  his  hoarse  throaty  voice.  He  still 
carried  the  scars  of  that  fearful  beating  Gilmore  had 
administered. 

"Yes,"  said  Langham.    "I'm  alone." 

"I  didn't  know  but  Andy  Gilmore  might  be  witH 
you,  boss,"  said  Montgomery,  clearing  his  throat. 

"No,  he's  not  here,"  replied  Langham  quietly. 
"He's  left  town." 

"Yes,  but  he'll  be  comin'  back !"  said  the  handy- 
man with  a  short  laugh. 

"No,  he's  gone  for  good." 

"Well,  I  ain't  sorry.  I  hope  to  God  I  never  see 
him  again — he  beat  me  up  awful !  I  was  as  good  a 
friend  as  he'll  ever  have ;  I  was  a  perfect  yellow  dog 
to  him;  he  whistled  and  I  jumped,  but  I'll  be 
damned  if  I  ever  jump  again!  Say,  I  got  about 
eighteen  inches  of  old  gas-pipe  slid  down  my  pants 
leg  now  for  Mr.  Andy ;  one  good  slug  with  that,  and 
he  won't  have  no  remarks  to  make  about  my  goin* 
home  to  my  old  woman !" 

"You  won't  have  to  use  it." 

"I'm  almost  sorry,"  said  Montgomery. 

"I  suppose  that  thirst  of  yours  is  unimpaired?" 
inquired  Langham. 

His  burning  eyes  never  for  an  instant  forsook 
the  dark  outline  of  the  handy-man's  slouching  fig- 
ure. 

"I  dunno,  boss,  I  ain't  been  drinkin'  much  lately. 
Liquor's  a  bully  thing  to  keep  the  holes  in  your 
pants,  and  your  toes  out  where  you  can  look  at  'em 


332     THE   JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

if  you  want  to.  I  dunno  as  I'll  ever  take  up  whisky - 
drinkin'  again/'  concluded  Mr.  Montgomery,  with 
a  self-denying  shake  of  the  head. 

"Are  you  glad  to  be  back,  Joe?"  asked  Langham. 

It  was  anything  to  gain  time,  he  was  thinking 
desperately  but  to  no  purpose. 

"Glad!  Stick  all  the  cuss  words  you  know  in 
front  of  that  and  it  will  be  mild!"  cried  Mont- 
gomery feelingly.  "It's  pitiful  the  way  I  been  used, 
just  knocked  from  pillar  to  post;  I've  seen  dogs  right 
here  in  Mount  Hope  that  had  a  lot  happier  time  than 
I've  been  havin' — and  me  a  married  man !  I've 
always  tried  to  be  a  good  husband,  I  hope  there 
won't  be  no  call  for  me  to  make  a  rough-house  of  it 
to-night!"  he  added  playfully,  as  he  looked  off 
across  the  bridge. 

"I  guess  not,  Joe,"  said  Langham. 

His  fears  assembled  themselves  before  him  like 
a  phantom  host  How  was  he  to  deal  with  the 
handy-man;  how  would  Gilmore  have  dealt  with 
him?  Had  the  time  gone  by  to  bully  and  bribe,  or 
was  that  still  the  method  by  which  he  could  best 
safeguard  his  life? 

"Say,  boss,  what  they  done  with  young  John 
North?"  Montgomery  suddenly  demanded. 

"Nothing  yet,"  answered  Langham  after  an  in- 
stant's pause. 

"Ain't  he  had  his  trial?"  Montgomery  asked. 

"Yes." 


ON    THE    HIGH    IRON    BRIDGE     333 

"Well,  ain't  they  done  anything  with  him?  If 
he  ain't  been  sent  up,  he's  been  turned  loose." 

"Neither,  Joe,"  rejoined  Langham  slowly.  "The 
jury  didn't  agree.  His  friends  are  trying  to  get  the 
judge  to  dismiss  the  case." 

"That  would  suit  me  bully,  boss,  if  they  done 
that!"  cried  the  handy-man. 

Langham  caught  the  tone  of  relief. 

"I  don't  want  to  see  him  hang;  I  don't  want  to  see 
no  one  hang,  I'm  all  in  favor  of  livin',  myself.  Say, 
I  had  a  sweet  time  out  West!  I'd  a  died  yonder;  I 
couldn't  stand  it,  I  had  to  come  back — just  had  to!" 

He  was  shaking  and  wretched,  and  he  exag- 
gerated no  part  of  the  misery  he  had  known. 

"When  did  you  get  in  ?"  asked  Langham. 

"I  beat  my  way  in  on  the  ten-thirty ;  I  rode  most 
of  the  way  from  Columbus  on  top  of  the  baggage 
car — I'm  half  dead,  boss  !" 

"Have  you  seen  any  one?" 

"No  one  but  you.  I  got  off  at  the  crossin'  where 
they  slow  up  and  come  along  here ;  I  wasn't  thinkin' 
of  a  damn  thing  but  gettin'  home  to  my  old  woman. 
I  guess  I'll  hit  the  ties  right  now!"  he  concluded 
with  sudden  resolution,  and  once  more  his  small  blue 
eyes  were  turned  toward  the  bridge. 

"I'll  walk  across  to  the  other  side  with  you,"  said 
Langham  hastily. 

"The  crick's  up  quite  a  bit!"  said  the  handy-man 
as  they  set  foot  on  the  bridge. 


334     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

Langham  glanced  out  into  the  gloom,  where  swol- 
len by  the  recent  rains  the  stream  splashed  and 
whirled  between  its  steep  banks. 

"Yes,  way  up !"  he  answered. 

As  he  spoke  he  stepped  close  to  Montgomery's 
side  and  raised  his  voice. 

"Stop  a  bit,"  said  Joe  halting.  "I  shan't  need 
this  now/'  and  he  drew  the  piece  of  gas-pipe  from 
his  trousers  pocket.  "I'd  have  hammered  the  life  out 
of  Andy  Gilmore!"  he  said,  as  he  tossed  the  ugly 
bludgeon  from  him. 

"You  haven't  told  me  where  you  have  been,"  said 
Langham,  and  once  more  he  pressed  close  to  Mont- 
gomery, so  close  their  elbows  touched. 

The  handy-man  moved  a  little  to  one  side. 

"Where  ain't  I  been,  you  better  ask,  boss,"  he 
said.  "I  seen  more  rotten  cities  and  more  rotten 
towns  and  more  rotten  country  than  you  can  shake 
a  stick  at;  God  A'mighty  knows  what's  the  good  of 
it — I  dunno !  Everybody  I  seen  was  strangers  to 
me,  never  a  face  I  knowed  anywhere;  Chicago, 
Kansas  City,  St.  Louis,  Denver — to  hell  with  'em 
all,  boss;  old  Mount  Hope's  good  enough  for  me!" 
And  the  handy-man  shrugged  his  huge  slanting 
shoulders. 

"Don't  go  so  fast,  Joe!"  Langham  cautioned,  and 
his  eyes  searched  the  darkness  ahead  of  them. 

"It's  a  risky  business  for  you,  boss,"  said  the 
handy-man.   "You  ain't  used  to  this  bridge  like  me." 

"Do  you  always  come  this  way?"  asked  Langham. 


ON    THE    HIGH    IRON    BRIDGE     335 

"Always,  in  all  seasons  and  all  shapes,  drunk  or 
sober,  winter  or  summer,"  said  the  handy-man. 

"One  wouldn't  have  much  chance  if  he  slipped  off 
here  to-night,"  said  Langham  with  a  shudder. 

"Mighty  little,"  agreed  Montgomery.  "Say,  step 
over,  boss — we  want  to  keep  in  the  middle!  There 
1 — that's  better,  I  was  clean  outside  the  rail." 

"Can  you  swim?"  asked  Langham. 

"Never  swum  a  stroke.  The  dirt's  good  enough 
for  me;  I  got  a  notion  that  these  here  people  who 
are  always  dippin'  themselves  are  just  naturally 
filthy.  Look  at  me,  a  handy-man  doing  all  kinds 
of  odd  jobs,  who's  got  a  better  right  to  get  dirty — 
but  I  leave  it  alone  and  it  wears  off.  I'm  blame  cer- 
tain you  won't  find  many  people  that  fool  away  less 
money  on  soap  than  just  me!"  said  Joe  with  evident 
satisfaction.  "The  old  woman's  up!"  he  cried,  as 
he  caught  the  glimmer  of  a  light  on  the  shore  be- 
yond. 

Perhaps  unconsciously  he  quickened  his  pace. 

"Not  so  fast,  Joe !"  gasped  Langham. 

"Oh,  all  right,  boss!"  responded  Montgomery. 

Langham  turned  to  him  quickly,  but  as  he  did  so 
his  foot  struck  the  cinder  ballast  of  the  road-bed. 

"Good  night,  boss!"  said  Joe,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  distant  light. 

"Wait!"  said  Langham  imperiously. 

"What  for?"  demanded  Montgomery. 

"The  water  made  such  a  noise  I  couldn't  talk  to 
you  out  on  the  bridge,"  began  Langham. 


336     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Well,  I  can't  stop  now,  boss,"  said  the  handy- 
man, turning  impatiently  from  him. 

"Yes,  damn  you — you  can — and  will !"  and  Lang- 
ham  raised  his  voice  to  give  weight  to  his  words. 

Montgomery  rounded  up  his  shoulders. 

"Don't  you  try  that,  boss !  Andy  Gilmore  could 
shout  me  down  and  cuss  me  out,  but  you  can't;  and 
I'll  peel  the  face  off  you  if  you  lay  hands  on  me!" 
He  thrust  out  a  grimy  fist  and  menaced  Langham 
with  it.  There  was  a  brief  silence  and  the  handy- 
man swung  about  on  his  heel. 

"Good  night,  boss!"  he  said  over  his  shoulder,  as 
he  moved  off. 

Langham  made  no  answer,  but  long  after  Joe's 
shuffling  steps  had  died  away  in  the  distance  he  was 
still  standing  there  irresolute  and  undecided,  staring 
fixedly  off  into  the  darkness  that  had  swallowed  up 
the  handy-man's  hulking  figure. 

Mr.  Montgomery,  muttering  somewhat  and  wag- 
ging his  head,  continued  along  the  track  for  a  matter 
of  a  hundred  yards,  when  his  feet  found  a  narrow 
path  which  led  off  in  the  direction  of  the  light  he  had 
so  confidently  declared  was  his  old  woman's.  Then 
presently  as  he  shuffled  forward,  the  other  seven 
houses  of  the  row  of  which  his  was  the  eighth, 
cloaked  in  utter  darkness,  took  shadowy  form  against 
the  sky.  The  handy-man  stumbled  into  his  unkempt 
front  yard,  its  metes  and  bounds  but  indifferently 
defined  by  the  remnants  of  what  had  been  a  picket 
fence;  he  made  his  Avay  to  the  side  door,  which  he 


ON    THE    HIGH    IRON    BRIDGE      337 

threw  open  without  ceremony.  As  he  had  surmised, 
his  old  woman  was  up.  She  was  seated  by  the  table 
in  the  corner,  engaged  in  mending  the  ragged  trous- 
ers belonging  to  Joseph  Montgomery,  junior. 

At  sight  of  Joe,  senior,  she  screamed  and  flung 
them  aside;  then  white  and  shaking  she  came  weakly 
to  her  feet.  The  handy-man  grinned  genially.  He 
was  not  of  demonstrative  temperament. 

"Joe!"  cried  Nellie,  as  she  sprang  toward  him. 
"Dear  Joe!"  and  she  threw  her  arms  about  him. 

"Oh,  hell!"  said  the  handy-man. 

Nellie  was  hanging  limply  about  his  neck  and  he 
was  aware  that  she  had  kissed  him;  he  could  not 
remember  when  before  she  had  taken  such  a  liberty. 
Mr.  Montgomery  believed  in  a  reasonable  display  of 
affection,  but  kissing  seemed  to  him  a  singularly 
frivolous  practice. 

"Oh,  my  man !"  sobbed  Nellie. 

"Oh,  cheese  it,  and  let  me  loose — I  don't  like  this 
to-do !  Can't  a  married  man  come  home  without  all 
this  fuss?" 

"Dear  Joe,  you've  come  back  to  me  and  your 
babies !"    And  the  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks. 

"I  don't  need  you  to  tell  me  that — I  got  plenty 
sense  enough  to  know  when  I'm  home!"  said  Mont- 
gomery, not  without  bitterness. 

"I  mourned  you  like  you  was  passed  away,  until 
your  letter  come!"  said  Nellie,  and  the  memory  of 
her  sufferings  set  her  sobbing  afresh. 

"Oh,    great    hell!"    exclaimed    Joe    dejectedly. 


338     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Why  can't  you  act  cheerful?  What's  the  good  of 
takin'  on,  anyhow — I  don't  like  tombstone  talk." 

"It  was  just  the  shock  of  seem'  you  standin'  there 
in  the  door  like  I  seen  you  so  often!"  said  Nellie 
weakly. 

"If  that  ain't  a  woman  for  you,  miserable  because 
she's  happy.  Say,  stop  chokin'  me;  I  won't  stand 
for  much  more  of  this  nonsense,  you  might  know  I 
don't  like  these  to-dos!" 

"You  don't  know  what  I've  suffered,  Joe!" 

"That's  a  woman  for  you  every  time- — always 
thinkin'  of  herself!  To  hear  you  talk  any  one 
would  think  I'd  been  to  a  church  picnic;  I  look  like 
I'd  been  to  a  picnic,  don't  I  ?   Yes,  I  do — like  hell !" 

"They  said  you  would  never  come  back  to  me," 
moaned  Nellie. 

"Who  said  that?"  asked  Mr.  Montgomery  aggres- 
sively. 

"Everybody  —  the  neighbors — Shrimplin — they 
all  said  it!" 

"Ain't  I  told  you  never  to  listen  to  gossip,  and 
ain't  I  always  done  what's  right?"  interrogated  the 
handy-man  severely. 

"Yes,  always,  Joe,"  said  Nellie. 

"Then  you  might  know'd  I'd  come  back  when 
I  got  plenty  good  and  ready.  I  fooled  'em  all,  and 
I'm  here  to  stay — that  is  if  you  keep  your  hands  off 
me!" 

"You  mean  it,  Joe?"  asked  Nellie. 


ON    THE    HIGH    IRON    BRIDGE      339 

"What?  About  your  keepin'  your  hands  off  me? 
Yes,  you  bet  I  do  I" 

And  Montgomery  by  a  not  ungentle  effort  re- 
leased himself  from  his  wife's  embrace.  This  act  so 
restored  his  self-respect  that  he  grinned  pleasantly 
at  her. 

"I  don't  know  when  I  been  so  happy,  Joe — it's 
awful  nice  to  have  you  back!"  said  Nellie,  wiping 
her  eyes  on  the  corner  of  her  apron. 

"There's  some  sense  in  your  savin*  that,"  said 
the  handy-man,  shaking  his  head.  "You  ought  to 
feel  happy." 

"You  don't  ask  after  your  children,  Joe — " 

"Don't  I?  Well,  maybe  you  don't  give  me  no 
time  to!"  said  Mr.  Montgomery,  but  without  any 
special  enthusiasm,  since  the  truth  was  that  his  inter- 
est in  his  numerous  offspring  was  most  casual. 

"They're  all  well,  and  the  littlest,  Tom — the  one 
you  never  seen — has  got  his  first  tooth  !"  said  Nellie. 

Joe  grunted  at  this  information. 

"He'll  have  more  by  and  by,  won't  he?"  he  said. 

"How  you  talk,  of  course  he  will !" 

"He'd  have  a  devil  of  a  time  chewin'  his  food  if 
he  didn't,"  observed  the  handy-man  with  a  throaty 
chuckle. 

"And,  Joe,  I  got  the  twenty  dollars  you  sent !" 

"Is  any  of  it  left?"  inquired  Mr.  Montgomery, 
with  sudden  interest. 

"The  rent  and  things  took  it  all.  That  was  the 
noblest  act  you  ever  done,  Joe;  it  made  me  certain 


340     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

you  was  thinkin'  of  us,  and  from  the  moment  I  got 
that  money  I  was  sure  you  would  come  back  no 
matter  what  people  said !" 

"Humph!"  said  Joe.  "Is  there  anything  in  the 
house  fit  to  eat?  Because  if  there  is,  I'll  feed  my 
face  right  now !" 

"Do  set  down,  Joe;  I'll  have  something  for  you  in 
a  minute — why  didn't  you  tell  me  you  was  hun- 
gry?" 

She  was  already  rattling  plates  and  knives  at  the 

cupboard,  and  Joe  took  the  chair  she  had  quitted 
when  he  entered  the  house,  stretching  his  legs  under 
his  own  table  with  a  sense  of  deep  satisfaction.  He 
had  not  considered  it  worth  his  while  to  visit  the 
kitchen  sink,  although  his  mode  of  life,  as  well  as 
his  mode  of  travel  for  days  past,  had  covered  him 
with  dust  and  grime ;  nor  did  he  take  off  his  ragged 
cap.  It  had  always  been  his  custom  to  wear  it  in 
the  privacy  of  his  own  home,  it  was  one  of  the  last 
things  he  removed  before  going  to  bed  at  night ;  at 
all  other  times  it  reposed  on  the  top  of  his  curly  red 
head  as  the  only  safe  place  for  a  cap  to  be. 

"I  was  real  worried  about  Arthur  along  in 
March,,,  said  Mrs.  Montgomery,  as  such  odds  and 
ends  as  had  survived  the  appetites  of  all  the  little 
Montgomerys  began  to  assemble  themselves  on  the 
table. 

"What's  he  been  a-doin'?"  inquired  Arthur's 
father. 

"It  was  his  chest,"  explained  Nellie. 


ON    THE    HIGH    IRON    BRIDGE      341 

Joe  grunted,  By  this  time  his  two  elbows  were 
planted  on  the  edge  of  the  table  and  his  mouth  was 
brought  to  within  six  scant  inches  of  his  plate.  The 
handy-man's  table  manners  were  not  his  strong 
point. 

"Oh,  I  guess  his  chest  is  all  right!"  he  paused  to 
say. 

"I  thought  it  was  best  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  so 
I  took  him  up-town  and  had  his  health  examined 
by  a  doctor.  He  had  to  take  off  his  shirt  so  he  could 
hear  Arthur's  lungs." 

"Well,  I'm  damned, — what  did  he  do  that  for?" 
cried  Joe,  profoundly  astonished. 

"It  was  a  mercy  I'd  washed  him  first,"  added  Nel- 
lie, not  comprehending  the  reason  of  her  husband's 
sudden  show  of  interest  though  gratified  by  it. 

"Lord,  I  thought  you  meant  the  doctor  had  took 
off  his  shirt!"  said  Joe.  "He's  all  right  now,  ain't 
he?" 

"Yes,  but  he  did  have  such  an  alarmin*  cough ;  it 
hung  on  and  hung  on,  it  seemed  to  me  like  it  was 
on  his  chest,  but  the  doctor  said  no,  and  I  was  that 
relieved !  I  used  some  of  the  twenty  dollars  to  pay 
him  and  to  get  medicine  from  the  drug  store." 

Joe  was  cramming  his  mouth  full  of  cold  meat  and 
bread,  and  for  the  moment  could  not  speak;  when 
at  length  he  could  and  did,  it  was  to  say : 

"I  hear  Andy  Gilmore's  left  town  ?" 

"Yes,  all  of  a  sudden,  and  no  one  knows  where 
he's  gone!" 


342     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"I  guess  he's  had  enough  of  Mount  Hope,  and  I 
guess  Mount  Hope's  had  enough  of  him !"  remarked 
Joe. 

"They  say  the  police  was  goin'  to  stop  the  gam- 
blin'  in  his  rooms  if  he  hadn't  gone  when  he  did." 

"Well,  I  hope  he'll  catch  hell  wherever  he  is!" 
said  Joe,  with  a  sullen  drop  to  his  voice. 

"For  a  while  after  you  left,  Joe,  they  didn't  give 
me  no  peace  at  all — the  police  and  detectives,  I 
mean — they  was  here  every  day!  And  Shrimplin 
told  me  they  was  puttin'  advertisements  in  the  pa- 
pers all  over  the  country." 

"What  for?"  inquired  Montgomery  uneasily. 

"They  wanted  to  find  out  where  you'd  gone;  it 
seemed  like  they  was  determined  to  get  you  back  as 
a  witness  for  the  trial,"  explained  Nellie. 

Montgomery's  uneasiness  increased.  He  began 
to  wonder  fearfully  if  he  was  in  any  danger,  vague 
forebodings  assailed  him.  Suppose  he  was  pinched 
and  sent  up.  His  face  blanched  and  his  small  blue 
eyes  slid  around  in  their  sockets.  Nellie  was  evi- 
dently unaware  of  the  feeling  of  terror  her  words 
had  inspired,  for  she  continued : 

"But  it  didn't  make  no  difference  in  the  end  that 
you  wasn't  here,  for  everybody  says  it  was  you  that 
hanged  John  North;  you  get  all  the  credit  for 
that!" 

Montgomery's  hands  fell  at  his  side. 

"Me   hanged   John    North!     Me   hanged   John 


ON    THE    HIGH    IRON    BRIDGE      343 

North!"  he  repeated.  "But  he  ain't  hanged — God 
A'mighty,  he  ain't  hanged  yet !" 

His  voice  shot  up  into  a  wail  of  horrified  pro- 
test. Nellie  regarded  him  with  a  look  of  aston- 
ishment. She  had  been  rather  sorry  for  young  John 
North,  but  she  had  also  felt  a  certain  wifely  pride  in 
Joe's  connection  with  the  case. 

"No,  he  ain't  hanged  yet  but  he  will  be  in  the 
morning!"  she  said. 

The  handy-man  sprang  to  his  feet,  knocking  over 
the  chair  in  which  he  had  been  seated. 

"What's  that?"  he  roared. 

"Why,  haven't  you  heard?  He's  to  be  hung  in 
the  morning." 

Joe  glared  at  her  with  starting  eyes. 

"What  will  they  do  that  for — hang  him — hang 
John  North!"  He  tore  off  his  ragged  cap  and 
dashed  it  to  the  floor  at  his  feet.  "To  hell  with 
Andy  Gilmore  and  to  hell  with  Marsh  Langham — 
that's  why  they  drove  me  out  of  town — to  hell  with 
'em  both !"  he  shouted,  and  his  great  chest  seemed 
bursting  with  pent-up  fury. 

"Why,  whatever  do  you  mean,  Joe?"  cried  Nellie. 

"He  never  done  it — you  hear  me —  and  they  knozv 
it!  You  sure  you  got  the  straight  of  this — they 
are  goin'  to  hang  young  John  North?"  He  seized 
her  roughly  by  the  shoulders. 

"Yes — how  you  take  on,  Joe — " 

"Take  on!"  he  shouted.     "You'd  take  on  too  if 


344     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

you  stood  in  my  place.     You're  sure  you  know  what 
you're  talkin'  about?" 

"I  seen  the  fence  around  the  jail  yard  where 
they're  goin'  to  hang  him;  I  went  over  on  purpose 
yesterday  with  one  of  the  neighbors  and  took  Ar- 
thur; I  thought  it  would  be  improvin',  but  he'd  seen 
it  before.  There  ain't  much  he  don't  see — for  all 
I  can  do  he  just  runs  the  streets." 

Joe's  resolution  had  been  formed  while  she  was 
speaking,  and  now  he  snatched  his  ragged  cap  from 
the  floor. 

"You  stay  right  here  till  I  get  back!"  he  said 
gruffly. 

It  was  not  his  habit  to  discuss  affairs  of  any  mo- 
ment with  Mrs.  Montgomery,  since  in  a  general  way 
he  doubted  the  clearness  of  the  feminine  judgment, 
and  in  the  present  instance  he  had  no  intention  of 
taking  her  into  his  confidence.  The  great  problem 
by  which  he  was  confronted  he  would  settle  in  his 
own  fashion. 

"You  ain't  in  any  trouble,  Joe?"  and  Nellie's 
eyes  widened  with  the  birth  of  sudden  fear. 

The  handy-man  was  standing  by  the  door,  and 
she  went  to  his  side. 

"Me?  No,  I  guess  not;  but  I  got  an  everlastin' 
dose  of  it  for  the  other  fellow!"  and  he  reached  for 
the  knob. 

"Was  it  what  I  said  about  the  police  wantin' 
you?"  his  wife  asked  timidly. 

She  knew  that  his  dealings  with  the  police  had 


ON    THE    HIGH    IRON    BRIDGE      345 

never  been  of  an  especially  fortunate  nature.  He 
shook  off  the  hand  she  had  placed  on  his  arm. 

"You  keep  your  mouth  shut  till  I  get  back!"  he 
said,  and  pushing  open  the  door,  passed  out. 

The  night  had  cleared  since  he  crossed  the  bridge, 
and  from  the  great  blue  arch  of  heaven  the  new 
moon  gave  her  radiance  to  a  sleeping  world.  But 
Montgomery  was  aware  only  of  his  purpose  as  he 
slouched  along  the  path  toward  the  railroad  track. 
The  horror  of  North's  fate  had  fixed  his  determi- 
nation, nothing  of  terror  or  fear  that  he  had 
ever  known  was  comparable  to  the  emotion  he  was 
experiencing  now.  He  did  not  even  speculate  on 
the  consequences  to  himself  of  the  act  he  had  de- 
cided on.  They  said  that  he  had  hanged  John 
North — he  got  the  credit  for  that — well,  John 
North  wasn't  hanged  yet !  He  tossed  his  arms  aloft. 
"My  God,  I  didn't  mean  to  do  that!"  he  muttered. 

He  had  gained  the  railroad  tracks  and  was  run- 
ning toward  the  bridge,  the  very  seconds  seemed  of 
infinite  value  to  him,  for  suppose  he  should  have 
difficulty  in  finding  Moxlow?  And  if  he  found  the 
prosecuting  attorney,  would  he  believe  his  story? 
A  shudder  passed  through  him.  He  was  quite  near 
the  bridge  when  suddenly  he  paused  and  a  whis- 
pered curse  slipped  from  between  his  parted  lips.  A 
man  was  standing  at  the  entrance  to  the  bridge  and 
though  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish  more  than 
the  shadowy  outline  of  his  figure,  Montgomery  was 
certain  that  it  was  Marshall  Langham.   His  first  im- 


346     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

pulse  was  to  turn  back  and  go  into  town  by  the 
wagon  road  and  the  wooden  bridge,  but  as  he  hesi- 
tated the  figure  came  toward  him,  and  Langham 
spoke. 

"Is  that  you,  Joe?"  he  asked. 

"Damn  him,  he  knows  I  won't  stand  for  hangin' 
North  I"  the  handy-man  told  himself  under  his 
breath.  He  added  aloud  as  he  shuffled  forward, 
"Yes,  it's  me,  boss !" 

"Couldn't  you  make  it  right  with  Nellie?"  asked 
Langham. 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that — the  old  woman's  all  right — but 
the  baby's  sick  and  I'm  out  huntin'  a  doctor." 

He  did  not  expect  Langham  to  believe  him,  but  on 
the  spur  of  the  moment  he  could  think  of  nothing 
better. 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  that!"  said  Langham. 

An  evil  wolfish  light  stole  into  his  eyes  and  the 
lines  of  his  weak  debauched  face  hardened. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  boss;  couldn't  you 
get  across?"  asked  Joe. 

"No,  the  bridge  is  too  much  for  me.  Like  a  fool 
I  stopped  here  to  smoke  a  cigar  after  you  left  me; 
I  hoped  it  would  clear  off  a  bit  so  I  could  see  the  ties, 
but  it's  worse  now  that  I  can.  I  had  about  made  up 
my  mind  to  come  and  get  you  to  help  me  back  into 
town." 

"Come  along,  boss,  I'm  in  a  terrible  hurry!"  said 
Joe  eagerly. 

But  Langham  was  a  pace  or  two  in  advance  of  him 


ON    THE    HIGH    IRON    BRIDGE     347 

when  they  stepped  out  on  the  bridge.  Never  once 
did  he  glance  in  the  handy-man's  direction.  Had  he 
done  so,  Montgomery  must  have  been  aware  that  his 
face  showed  bloodless  in  the  moonlight,  while  his 
sunken  eyes  blazed  with  an  unaccustomed  fire. 

"I  can't  walk  these  ties,  Joe — give  me  your 
hand — "  he  managed  to  say. 

Joe  did  as  he  desired,  and  as  the  lawyer's  slim 
fingers  closed  about  his  great  fist  he  was  conscious 
that  a  cold  moisture  covered  them.  He  could  only 
think  of  a  dead  man's  hand. 

"What's  wrong  with  the  baby,  Joe?"  Langham 
asked. 

"Seems  like  it's  got  a  croup,"  said  Joe  promptly. 

'That's  too  bad—" 

"Yes,  it's  a  hell  of  a  pity,"  agreed  Montgomery. 

He  was  furtively  watching  Langham  out  of  the 
corners  of  his  beady  blue  eyes;  his  inner  sense  of 
things  told  him  it  was  well  to  do  this.  They  took 
half  a  dozen  steps  and  Langham  released  Joe's 
hand. 

"I  wonder  if  I  can  manage  this  alone!"  he  said. 
But  apparently  the  attempt  was  a  failure,  for  he 
quickly  rested  his  hand  on  his  companion's  massive 
shoulder. 

They  had  reached  the  second  of  the  bridge's  three 
spans.  Below  them  in  the  darkness  the  yellow  flood 
poured  in  noisy  volume.  As  Langham  knew,  here 
the  stream  was  at  its  deepest  and  its  current  the 
swiftest.     He  knew  also  that  his  chance  had  come; 


348     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

but  he  dared  not  make  use  of  it.  The  breath 
whistled  from  his  lips  and  the  moisture  came  from 
every  pore.  He  sought  frantically  to  nerve  him- 
self for  the  supreme  moment;  but  suppose  he 
slipped,  or  suppose  Joe  became  aware  of  his  purpose 
one  second  too  soon ! 

"Keep  over  a  bit,  boss!"  said  the  handy-man  sud- 
denly.    "You  are  crowding  me  off  the  bridge!" 

"Oh,  all  right;  is  that  better?" 

And  Langham  moved  a  step  aside. 

"A  whole  lot,"  responded  Joe  gruffly.  But  his  lit- 
tle blue  eyes,  alert  with  cunning,  were  never  with- 
drawn from  the  lawyer  for  an  instant. 

They  walked  forward  in  silence  for  a  moment  or 
two,  and  were  approaching  the  end  of  the  center 
span,  when  the  lawyer  glanced  about  him  wildly ;  he 
realized  that  he  was  letting  slip  his  one  great  oppor- 
tunity.  Again  Joe  spoke : 

"Keep  over,  boss!"  And  then  all  in  the  same 
breath,  "What  the  hell  are  you  up  to,  anyway?" 

It  must  be  now  or  it  would  be  never;  and  Lang- 
ham,  turning  swiftly,  hurled  himself  on  his  com- 
panion, and  his  slim  fingers  with  their  death-like 
chill  gripped  Joe's  hairy  throat.  In  the  suddenness 
of  the  attack  he  was  forced  toward  the  edge  of  the 
bridge.  The  rush  of  the  noisy  waters  sounded  with 
fearful  distinctness  in  his  ears. 

"Here,  damn  you,  let  go!"  panted  Montgomery. 

He  felt  Langham's  hot  breath  on  his  cheek,  he 
read  murder  by  the  wolfish  light  in  his  eyes.     He 


"  Here,  let  go  !  "   panted   Montgomery 


ON    THE    HIGH    IRON    BRIDGE     349 

wrenched  himself  free  of  the  other's  desperate 
clutch,  but  as  he  did  so  his  foot  caught  against  one 
of  the  rails  and  he  slipped  and  fell  to  his  knees.  In 
the  intervals  of  his  own  labored  breathing,  he  heard 
the  flow  of  the  river,  a  dull  ceaseless  roar,  and  saw 
the  flashing  silver  of  the  moon's  rays  as  they  touched 
the  water's  turgid  surface.  Langham  no  longer 
sought  to  force  him  from  the  bridge,  but  bent  every 
effort  to  thrust  him  down  between  the  ties  to  a  swift 
and  certain  death. 

"You  want  to  kill  me,  too!"  panted  Montgomery, 
as  by  a  mighty  effort  that  brought  the  veins  on 
neck  and  forehead  to  the  point  of  bursting,  he  re- 
gained his  footing  on  the  ties. 

But  his  antagonist  was  grimly  silent,  and  Joe, 
roused  to  action  by  fear,  and  by  a  sullen  rage  at 
what  he  deemed  the  lawyer's  perfidy,  turned  and 
grappled  with  him.  Once  he  smashed  his  great  fist 
full  into  Langham's  face,  and  though  the  blow  sent 
the  lawyer  staggering  across  the  bridge,  he  recov- 
ered himself  quickly  and  rushed  back  to  renew 
the  fight  Montgomery  greeted  him  with  an  oath, 
and  they  grappled  again. 

Langham  had  known  in  his  calmer  moments  when 
he  planned  Joe's  death,  that  his  only  hope  of  success 
lay  in  the  suddenness  of  his  attack.  Now  as  they 
swayed  on  the  very  edge  of  the  bridge  the  handy- 
man put  forth  all  his  strength  and  lifted  the  lawyer 
clear  of  the  ties,  then  with  a  mighty  heave  of  his 
great  shoulders  he  tossed  him  out  into  space. 


350     THE   JUST   AND   THE    UNJUST 

There  was  a  scarcely  audible  splash  and  Joe,  look- 
ing fearfully  down,  saw  the  muddy  drops  turn 
limpid  in  the  soft  white  light.  A  moment  later  some 
dark  object  came  to  the  surface  and  a  white  face 
seemed  to  look  up  into  his,  but  only  for  a  second,  and 
then  the  restless  flood  bore  it  swiftly  away. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SIX 
custer's  idol  falls 

EARLY  that  same  night  Mr.  Shrimplin,  taking 
Custer  with  him,  had  driven  out  into  the 
country.  Their  destination  was  a  spot  far  down  the 
river  where  catfish  were  supposed  to  abound,  for 
Izaak  Walton's  gentle  art  was  the  little  lamplighter's 
favorite  recreation.  After  leaving  Mount  Hope  they 
jogged  along  the  dusty  country  road  for  some  two 
miles,  then  turning  from  it  into  a  little-traveled  lane 
they  soon  came  out  upon  a  great  sweeping  bend  of 
the  stream. 

"I  don't  know  about  this,  Custer,"  said  Mr. 
Shrimplin,  with  a  doubtful  shake  of  the  head,  as  he 
drew  rein.  "She's  way  up.  I  had  no  idea  she  was 
way  up  like  this ;  I  guess  though  we  can't  do  no 
better  than  to  chance  it,  catfish  is  a  muddy-water  fish, 
anyhow." 

He  tied  wild  Bill  to  a  blasted  sycamore,  and  then, 
while  he  cut  poles  from  the  willow  bushes  that  grew 
along  the  bank,  Custer  built  a  huge  bonfire,  by  the 
light  of  which  they  presently  angled  with  varying 
fortunes 

"I  reckon  not  many  people  but  me  knows  about 
351 


352      THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

this  fishing-hole!"  said  Shrimplin,  as  he  cast  his 
baited  hook  into  the  water. 

"Where  did  you  learn  to  fish?"  asked  Custer, 
thirsting  for  that  wisdom  his  father  was  so  ready 
to  impart. 

"I  guess  you'd  call  it  a  natural  gift  in  my  case, 
son,"  said  the  little  lamplighter  modestly.  "I  don't 
know  as  I  deserve  no  credit;  it's  like  playing  the  or- 
gan or  walking  on  a  tight  rope,  the  instinct's  got  to 
be  there  or  you'll  only  lay  yourself  open  to  ridicule." 

But  truth  to  tell,  fishing  was  no  very  subtle  art  as 
practised  by  Mr.  Shrimplin,  he  merely  spat  on  his 
bait  before  he  dropped  it  into  the  water.  Even  Cus- 
ter knew  that  every  intelligent  fisherman  did  this, 
you  couldn't  reasonably  hope  to  catch  anything  un- 
less you  did ;  yet  there  seemed  to  him,  when  he  now 
thought  of  it,  such  a  gap  between  cause  and  effect 
that  he  asked  as  he  warily  watched  his  cork : 

"What  good  does  it  do  to  spit  on  your  hook?" 

"I've  forgot  the  science  of  it,  Custer,"  admitted 
his  father  after  a  moment's  thought.  "But  I've  al- 
ways heard  old  fishermen  say  you  couldn't  catch 
nothing  unless  you  did." 

"Did  you  ever  try  to?" 

"I  can't  say  as  I  ever  did.  What  would  be  the  use 
when  you  know  better?"  said  Mr.  Shrimplin,  who 
was  strictly  orthodox.  His  cork  went  under  and  he 
landed  a  flopping  shiner  on  the  bank;  this  he  took 
from  his  hook  and  tossed  back  into  the  water.  "It's 
a  funny  thing  about  shiners !"  he  said. 


CUSTER'S    IDOL    FALLS  353 

"What  is?"  inquired  Custer. 

"Why,  you  always  catch  'em  when  you  ain't  fish- 
ing for  'em.  You  fish  for  catfish  or  sun-dabs,  or  bass 
even,  if  you're  using  worms,  and  you  catch  shiners ; 
mainly,  I  suppose,  because  they  are  no  manner  of 
use  to  you.  I  reckon  if  you  fished  for  shiners  you 
wouldn't  catch  anything, — you  couldn't — because 
there  is  no  more  worthless  fish  that  swims!  That's 
why  fishing  is  like  life;  in  fact,  you  can't  do  nothing 
that  ain't  like  life;  but  I  don't  know  but  what  catch- 
ing shiners  ain't  just  a  little  bit  more  like  life  than 
anything  else !  You  think  you're  going  to  make  a  lot 
of  money  out  of  some  job  you've  got,  but  it  shaves 
itself  down  to  half  by  the  time  it  reaches  you;  or 
you've  got  to  cough  up  double  what  you  counted  on 
when  it's  the  other  way  about;  so  it  works  out  the 
same  always;  you  get  soaked  whether  you  buy  or 
sell,  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave  you're  always 
catching  shiners!"  While  Mr.  Shrimplin  was  still 
philosophizing  big  drops  of  warm  spring  rain 
began  to  splash  and  patter  on  the  long  reach  of  still 
water  before  them.  He  scrambled  to  his  feet.  "We 
are  going  to  have  some  weather,  Custer!"  he  said, 
and  they  had  scarcely  time  in  which  to  drive 
Bill  under  the  shelter  of  a  disused  hay  barracks  in 
an  adjacent  field,  when  the  storm  broke  with  all  its 
fury.  Here  they  spent  the  better  part  of  an  hour, 
and  when  at  last  the  rain  ceased  they  climbed  into 
the  cart  and  turned  Bill's  head  in  the  direction 
of  home. 


354     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"I  hope,  Custer,  that  your  ma  won't  be  scared; 
it's  getting  mighty  late,"  said  the  senior  Shrimplin, 
and  he  shook  his  head  as  if  in  pity  of  a  human  weak- 
ness which  his  mind  grasped,  though  he  could  not 
share  in  it.  "Seems  to  be  that  people  give  way  more 
and  more  to  their  fear  than  they  used  to ;  or  maybe 
it  is  that  I  ask  too  much,  being  naturally  nervy  my- 
self and  not  having  no  nerves,  as  I  may  say." 

Half  an  hour  later,  off  in  the  distance,  the  lights 
of  Mount  Hope  became  visible  to  Custer  and  his 
father. 

"I'd  give  a  good  deal  for  a  glass  of  suds  and  a 
cracker  right  now!"  said  Mr.  Shrimplin,  speaking 
after  a  long  silence.  He  tilted  his  head  and  took  a 
comprehensive  survey  of  the  heavens.  "Well,  we're 
going  to  have  a  fine  day  for  the  hanging,"  he  ob- 
served, with  the  manner  of  a  connoisseur. 

"Why  won't  they  let  no  one  see  it?"  demanded 
Custer. 

"It's  to  be  strictly  private.  I  don't  know  but  what 
that's  best;  it's  some  different  though  from  the  hang- 
ings I'm  used  to."  And  Mr.  Shrimplin  shook  his 
head  dubiously  as  if  he  wished  Custer  to  understand 
that  after  all  perhaps  he  was  not  so  sure  it  was  for 
the  best. 

"How  were  they  different?"  inquired  Custer,  sens- 
ible that  his  parent  was  falling  into  a  reminiscent 
mood. 

"Well,  they  were  more  gay  for  one  thing;  folks 
drove  in  from  miles  about  and  brought  their  lunches 


CUSTER'S    IDOL    FALLS  355 

and  et  fried  chicken.  Sometimes  there  was  hoss  rac- 
ing in  the  morning,  and  maybe  a  shooting  scrape  or 
two;  fact  is,  we  usually  knowed  who  was  to  be  the 
next  to  stretch  hemp  before  the  day  was  over, — it 
gave  you  something  to  look  forward  to  !  But  pshaw  ! 
What  can  you  expect  here  ?  Mount  Hope  ain't  edu- 
cated up  to  the  sort  of  thing  I'm  used  to!  A  feller 
gets  his  face  punched  down  at  Mike  Lonigan's  or 
out  at  the  Dutchman's  by  the  tracks,  and  the  whole 
town  talks  of  it,  but  no  one  ever  draws  a  gun;  the 
feller  that  gets  his  face  punched  spits  out  his  teeth 
and  goes  on  about  his  business,  and  that's  the  end  of 
it  except  for  the  talk;  but  where  I've  been  there'd  be 
murder  in  about  the  time  it  takes  to  shift  a  quid!" 

And  Mr.  Shrimplin  shifted  his  own  quid  to  illus- 
trate the  uncertainty  of  human  life  in  those  highly 
favored  regions. 

"Don't  you  suppose  they'd  let  you  into  the  jail 
yard  to-morrow  if  you  asked?"  said  Custer,  to  whom 
the  hanging  on  the  morrow  was  a  matter  of  vital  and 
very  present  interest. 

"Well,  son,  I  ain't  asked!"  rejoined  the  little 
lamplighter  in  a  rather  startled  tone. 

"Well,  don't  you  think  they'd  ought  to,  seeing  that 
you  was  one  of  the  witnesses,  and  found  old  Mr. 
McBride  before  anybody  else  did?"  persisted  the 
boy. 

"I  won't  say  but  what  you  might  think  they'd 
want  me  present;  but  Conklin  ain't  even  suggested 
it,  and  if  he  don't  think  of  it  I  can't  say  as  I'll  have 


356     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

any  hard  feelings/'  concluded  Mr.  Shrimplin  mag- 
nanimously. 

They  were  about  to  enter  Mount  Hope  now;  to 
their  right  they  could  distinguish  the  brick  slaugh- 
ter-house which  stood  on  the  river  bank,  and  which 
served  conveniently  to  mark  the  town's  corporate 
limits  on  the  east.  The  little  lamplighter  spoke  per- 
suasively to  Bill,  and  the  lateness  of  the  hour 
together  with  the  nearness  to  his  own  stable,  con- 
spired to  make  that  sagacious  beast  shuffle  forward 
over  the  stony  road  at  a  very  respectable  rate  of 
speed.  They  were  fairly  abreast  of  the  slaughter- 
house when  Custer  suddenly  placed  his  hand  on  his 
father's  arm. 

"Hark!"  said  the  boy. 

Mr.  Shrimplin  drew  rein. 

"Well,  what  is  it,  Custer?"  he  asked,  with  all  that 
bland  indulgence  of  manner  which  was  habitual  to 
him  in  his  intercourse  with  his  son. 

"Didn't  you  hear,  it  sounded  like  a  cry!"  said 
Custer,  in  an  excited  whisper. 

And  instantly  a  shiver  traversed  the  region  of 
Mr.  Shrimplin's  spine. 

"I  guess  you  was  mistaken,  son !"  he  answered 
rather  nervously. 

"No,  don't  you  hear  it — from  down  by  the  crick 
bank?"  cried  the  boy  in  the  same  excited  whisper. 
His  father  was  conscious  of  the  wish  that  he  would 
select  a  more  normal  tone. 

"There!"  cried  Custer. 


CUSTER'S    IDOL    FALLS  357 

As  he  spoke,  a  cry,  faint  and  wavering,  reached 
Mr.  Shrimplin's  ears. 

"I  do  seem  to  hear  something — "  he  admitted. 

"What  do  you  suppose  it  is?"  asked  the  boy,  peer- 
ing off  into  the  gloom. 

"I  don't  know,  Custer,  and  not  wishing  to  be  short 
with  you,  I  don't  care  a  damn !"  rejoined  Mr. 
Shrimplin,  endeavoring  to  meet  the  situation  with  an 
air  of  pleasant  raillery. 

He  gathered  up  his  lines  as  he  spoke. 

"Why,  what  are  you  thinking  of?"  demanded 
Custer. 

"I  was  thinking  of  your  ma,  Custer!"  faltered 
Mr.  Shrimplin  weakly.  "We  been  gone  longer  than 
we  said,  it  must  be  after  eleven  o'clock." 

"There!"  cried  Custer  again,  as  a  feeble  call  for 
help  floated  up  to  them.  "It's  from  down  on  the 
crick  bank  back  of  the  slaughter-house!" 

Mr.  Shrimplin  was  knowing  a  terrible  moment  of 
doubt,  especially  terrible  because  the  doubt  was  of 
himself.  He  was  aware  that  Custer  would  expect 
much  of  him  in  the  present  crisis,  and  he  was  equally 
certain  that  he  would  not  rise  to  the  occasion.  If 
somebody  would  only  come  that  way!  And  he  lis- 
tened desperately  for  the  sound  of  wheels  on  the 
road,  but  all  he  heard  was  that  oft-repeated  call  for 
help  that  came  wailing  from  the  black  shadows  be- 
yond the  slaughter-house.  Suddenly  Custer  an- 
swered the  call  with  a  reassuring  cry. 

"Perhaps  it's  another  murder!"  he  said. 


358     THE   JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Oh,  my  God!"  gasped  Shrimplin,  and  there 
flashed  through  his  mind  the  horror  of  that  other 
night. 

Custer  slipped  out  of  the  cart. 

"Come  on!"  he  cried. 

He  was  vaguely  conscious  that  his  father  was  not 
seizing  the  present  opportunity  to  distinguish 
himself  with  any  noticeable  avidity.  He  had  ex- 
pected to  see  that  conqueror  of  bad  men  and  cow- 
towns,  the  somewhat  ruthless  but  always  manful 
slayer  of  one-eye  Murphy,  descend  from  his  cart 
with  astonishing  alacrity,  and  heedless  in  his  tried 
courage  stride  down  into  the  darkness  beyond  the 
slaughter-house.  But  Mr.  Shrimplin  did  nothing  of 
the  sort,  he  made  no  move  to  quit  his  seat.  Surely 
something  had  gone  very  wrong  with  the  William 
Shrimplin  of  Custer's  fancy,  the  young  Bill  Shrimp- 
lin of  Texarcana  and  similar  centers  of  crime  and 
hardihood. 

"Custer — "  began  Mr.  Shrimplin,  in  a  shaking 
voice.  "I  am  wondering  if  it  wouldn't  be  best  to 
drive  on  into  town  and  get  a  cop — Oh,  my  God,  why 
don't  you  quit  hollering!" 

"Maybe  they're  killing  him  now!"  cried  Custer 
breathlessly. 

He  could  not  yet  comprehend  his  father's  attitude 
in  the  matter,  he  could  only  realize  that  for  some 
wholly  inexplicable  reason  he  was  falling  far  short 
of  his  ideal  of  him;  he  seemed  utterly  to  have  lost 
his  eye  for  the  spectacular  possibilities  of  the  mo- 


CUSTER'S    IDOL    FALLS  359 

ment.  Why  share  the  credit  with  a  cop,  why  ask 
help  of  any  one! 

" You  don't  need  no  help,  pa !"  he  said. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  do,"  replied  the  little 
man,  but  he  made  no  move  to  leave  his  cart,  his 
fears  glued  him  to  the  seat. 

"Come  on,  then !"  insisted  Custer  impatiently. 

"Don't  you  feel  afraid,  son?"  inquired  Mr. 
Shrimplin,  with  marked  solicitude. 

"Not  with  you!" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  as  you  need  to!"  admitted 
Shrimplin.  "But  I  don't  feel  quite  right — I  reckon 
I  feel  sort  of  sick,  Custer — sort  of — " 

"Oh,  come  on — hurry  up !" 

"I  don't  know  but  I  ought  to  see  a  doctor  first — " 
faltered  Mr.  Shrimplin  in  a  hollow  tone. 

Misery  of  soul  twisted  his  weak  face  pathetically. 

"Why  you  act  like  you  was  afraid/"  said  Custer, 
with  withering  contempt. 

His  words  cut  the  elder  Shrimplin  like  a  knife; 
but  they  did  not  move  him  from  his  seat  in  the  cart. 

"You  bet  I  ain't  afraid,  Custer, — and  that's  no 
way  for  you  to  speak  to  your  pa,  anyhow !" 

But  what  he  had  intended  should  be  the  note  of 
authority  was  no  more  than  a  whine  of  injury. 

"Then  why  don't  you  come  if  you  ain't  afraid?" 
insisted  the  boy  angrily. 

"I  don't  know  as  I  rightly  know  why  I  don't!" 
faltered  Mr.  Shrimplin.  "I  feel  rotten  bad  all  at 
once." 


360     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"You're  a  coward !"  cried  the  boy  in  fierce  scorn. 

Sobs  choked  his  further  utterance  while  the  hot 
tears  blinded  him  on  the  instant  His  idol  had 
turned  to  clay  in  his  very  presence,  and  in  the  deso- 
lation of  that  moment  he  wished  that  he  might  be 
stricken  with  death,  since  life  held  nothing  for  him 
longer. 

"Custer — "  began  Shrimplin. 

"Why  don't  you  be  a  man  and  go  down  there  ?" 
sobbed  the  boy. 

"It's  dangerous !"  said  Mr.  Shrimplin. 

"Then  I'll  go!"  declared  Custer  resolutely. 

"What — and  leave  me  here  alone?"  cried  the  lit- 
tle lamplighter. 

For  answer  Custer  ran  to  the  fence;  his  tears  still 
blinded  him  and  sobs  wrenched  his  little  body. 
Twice  he  slipped  back  as  he  essayed  to  climb,  but 
a  third  attempt  took  him  to  the  topmost  rail  of  the 
rickety  structure. 

"Custer !"  called  his  father. 

But  Custer  persisted  in  the  crime  of  disobedience. 
He  slid  down  from  the  top  rail  and  stood  among 
the  young  pokeberry  bushes  and  ragweed  that  lux- 
uriated in  the  foulness  of  the  slaughter-house  yard. 
It  was  not  an  especially  inviting  spot  even  in  broad 
day,  as  he  knew.  Now  the  moonlight  showed  him 
bleached  animal  bones  and  grinning  animal  skulls, 
while  the  damp  weeds  that  clung  about  his  bare  legs 
suggested  snakes. 

"Custer!"  cried  Mr.  Shrimplin  again. 


CUSTER'S    IDOL    FALLS  361 

But  it  gained  him  no  response  from  the  boy,  who 
disappeared  from  before  his  eyes  without  a  single 
backward  glance;  whereat  the  little  lamplighter 
cursed  querulously  in  the  fear-haunted  solitude  of 
the  road. 

Custer  descended  the  steep  bank  that  sloped  down 
to  the  water's  edge.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  dense 
growth  of  willows  and  sycamores  that  lined  the 
shore;  it  was  from  a  spot  within  their  black  shadows 
that  the  cries  for  help  seemed  to  come.  Presently  he 
paused. 

"Hullo!"  he  called,  peering  into  the  darkness 
ahead  of  him. 

He  listened  intently,  but  this  time  his  cry  was  un- 
answered; all  he  heard  was  the  grunting  of  some 
pigs  that  fed  among  the  offal.  The  boy  shivered 
and  his  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating. 

"Hullo!"  he  called  once  more. 

"Help !"  came  the  answer. 

And  Custer  stumbled  forward.  As  he  neared  the 
black  shadows  of  the  willows  he  could  feel  his  heart 
sink  like  lead  through  all  the  reaches  of  his  shaking 
anatomy.  He  had  passed  quite  beyond  the  hearing 
of  his  father's  commands  and  reproaches,  and  the 
wash  and  rush  of  the  river  came  up  to  him  out  of  the 
silence. 

''Hullo!"  cried  the  boy,  pausing  irresolutely. 

Then  seemingly  from  the  earth  at  his  very  feet 
came  a  faint  answer  to  his  call,  and  Custer,  forcing 
his  way  through  a  rank  growth  of  weeds  and  briers, 


362      THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

stood  on  the  brink  of  a  deep  gully  that  a  small  brook 
had  worn  for  itself  on  its  way  to  the  river  below.  In 
the  bed  of  this  brook  was  a  dark  object  that  Custer 
could  barely  distinguish  to  be  the  figure  of  a  man. 
A  bruised  and  bleeding  face  was  upturned. 

"Give  me  your  hand — "  gasped  the  man. 

Custer  knelt  on  the  bank  and  grasping  a  tuft  of 
grass  to  steady  himself  extended  his  free  hand. 

"Are  you  hurt  bad?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know — "  gasped  the  man,  as  he  en- 
deavored to  draw  himself  up  out  of  the  bed  of  the 
brook. 

But  after  a  moment  of  fruitless  exertion  he  sank 
back  groaning. 

"Go  for  help!"  he  said,  in  a  painful  whisper. 
"You  are  not  strong  enough  for  this." 

"How  did  you  get  here?"  asked  Custer. 

"I  fell  off  the  railroad  bridge,  the  current  landed 
me  here;  where  am  I,  anyhow?" 

"At  the  brick  slaughter-house,"  said  Custer. 

"I  thought  so;  can't  you  get  some  one  to  help 
you?" 

But  Custer,  his  reasonable  curiosity  satisfied,  was 
already  on  his  way  back  to  the  road.  "If  only  pa 
has  not  driven  off!"  But  the  senior  Shrimplin 
had  not  moved  from  the  spot  where  Custer  had  left 
him  five  minutes  before. 

"Is  that  you,  son?"  he  asked,  as  Custer  appeared 
at  the  fence. 

"Come  here,  quick!"  commanded  the  boy. 


CUSTER'S    IDOL    FALLS  363 

"For  what?"  inquired  Mr.  Shrimplin. 

"You  needn't  be  afraid,  it's  only  a  man  who's 
fallen  off  the  iron  bridge.  He's  down  in  the  bed 
of  the  slaughter-house  run.  I  can't  get  him  out 
alone !" 

"I'll  bet  he's  good  and  drunk!"  said  the  little 
lamplighter. 

"No,  he  ain't,  and  he's  mighty  badly  hurt!"  said 
the  boy  hotly. 

"Of  course,  of  course,  Custer!"  said  Mr.  Shrimp- 
lin. "He'd  a  been  killed  though  if  he  hadn't  been 
drunk." 

He  climbed  out  of  his  cart,  and  clambered  over  the 
fence.  Something  in  Custer's  manner  warned  him 
that  any  allusions  of  a  jocular  nature  would  prove 
highly  distasteful  to  his  son,  and  he  followed  silent- 
ly as  Custer  led  the  way  down  to  the  brook. 

"Here's  where  he  is!"  said  the  boy  halting.  "You 
get  down  beside  him — you're  strongest,  and  I'll  stay 
here  and  help  pull  him  up  while  you  lift!" 

"That's  the  idea,  son!"  agreed  Mr.  Shrimplin 
genially. 

And  he  slid  down  into  the  bed  of  the  brook  where 
he  struggled  to  get  the  injured  man  to  his  feet. 
The  first  and  immediate  result  of  his  effort  was  that 
the  latter  swore  fiercely  at  him,  though  in  a  whisper. 

"We  got  to  get  you  out  of  this,  mister !"  said  the 
little  lamplighter  apologetically. 

A  second  attempt  was  made  in  which  they  were 
aided  by  Custer  from  above,  and  this  time  the  in- 


364     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

jured  man  was  drawn  to  the  top  of  the  bank,  where 
he  collapsed  in  a  heap. 

"He's  fainted \"  said  Custer.  "Strike  a  match  and 
see  who  it  is  !" 

Mr.  Shrimplin  obeyed,  bringing  the  light  close  to 
the  bloody  and  disfigured  face. 

"Why,  it's  Marsh  Langham !"  he  cried. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SEVEN 

FAITH  IS  RESTORED 

"/^S  USTER — "  began  Mr.  Shrimplin,  and  paused 
\^Ji  to  clear  his  throat.  He  was  walking  beside 
wild  Bill's  head  while  Custer  in  the  cart  tried 
to  support  Langham,  for  the  latter  had  not  regained 
consciousness.  "Custer,  I'm  mighty  well  satisfied 
with  you ;  I  may  say  that  while  I  always  been  proud 
of  you,  I  am  prouder  this  moment  than  I  ever  hoped 
to  be!  How  many  boys  in  Mount  Hope,  do  you 
think,  would  have  the  nerve  to  do  what  you  just 
done?  I  love  nerve/'  concluded  Mr.  Shrimplin  with 
generous  enthusiasm. 

But  Custer  was  silent,  a  sense  of  bitter  shame  kept 
him  mute. 

"Custer,"  said  his  father,  in  a  timidly  propitiatory 
tone,  "I  hope  you  ain't  feeling  stuck-up  about  this!" 

"I  wish  it  had  never  happened!"    The  boy  spoke 
in  an  angry  whisper. 

"You  wish  what  had  never  happened,  Custer?" 

"About  you — I  mean  !" 

Shrimplin  gave  a  hollow  little  laugh. 

"Well,  and  what  about  me,  son — if  I  may  be  al- 
lowed to  ask?" 

365 


366     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"I  wish  you'd  gone  down  to  the  crick  bank  like 
I  wanted  you  to!"  rejoined  the  boy. 

Again  he  felt  the  hot  tears  gather,  and  drew  the 
back  of  his  hand  across  his  eyes.  The  little  lamp- 
lighter had  been  wishing  this,  too ;  indeed,  it  would 
for  ever  remain  one  of  the  griefs  of  his  life  that  he 
had  not  done  so.  He  wondered  miserably  if  the 
old  faith  would  ever  renew  itself.  His  portion  in 
life  was  the  deadly  commonplace,  but  Custer's  belief 
had  given  him  hours  of  high  fellowship  with  heroes 
and  warriors;  it  had  also  ministered  to  the  bloody  - 
mindedness  which  lay  somewhere  back  of  that  quak- 
ing fear  constitutional  with  him,  and  which  he  could 
no  more  control  than  he  could  control  his  hunger  or 
thirst.  His  blinking  eyelids  loosed  a  solitary  drop 
of  moisture  that  slid  out  to  the  tip  of  his  hooked  nose. 
But  though  Mr.  Shrimplin's  physical  equipment  was 
of  the  slightest  for  the  role  in  life  he  would  have  es- 
sayed, nature,  which  gives  the  hunted  bird  and 
beast  feather  and  fur  to  blend  with  the  russets  and 
browns  of  the  forest  and  plain,  had  not  dealt  un- 
generously with  him,  since  he  could  believe  that  a 
lie  long  persisted  in  gathered  to  itself  the  very 
soul  and  substance  of  truth.  Another  hollow  little 
laugh  escaped  him. 

"Lord,  Custer,  I  was  foolin' — I  am  always  fool- 
in'  !  It  was  my  chance  to  see  the  stuff  that's  in  you. 
Well,  it's  pretty  good  stuff !"  he  added  artfully. 

But  Custer  was  not  ready  for  the  reception  of  this 
new   idea;   his   father's   display   of  cowardice   had 


FAITH    IS    RESTORED  367 

seemed  only  too  real  to  him.  Yet  the  little  lamp- 
lighter's manner  took  on  confidence  as  he  prepared  to 
establish  a  few  facts  as  a  working  basis  for  their  sub- 
sequent reconciliation. 

"I'd  been  a  little  better  pleased,  son,  if  you'd  gone 
quicker  when  you  heard  them  calls  Mr.  Langham 
was  letting  out;  you  did  hang  back,  you'll  remember 
— it  looked  like  you  was  depending  on  me  too  much ; 
but  I  got  no  desire  to  rub  this  in.  What  you  done 
was  nervy,  and  what  I  might  have  looked  for  with 
the  bringing-up  I've  given  you.  I  shan't  mention 
that  you  hung  back."  He  shot  a  glance  out  of  the 
corners  of  his  bleached  blue  eyes  in  Custer's  direc- 
tion. "How  many  minutes  do  you  suppose  you  was  in 
getting  out  of  the  cart  and  over  the  fence?  Not  more 
than  five,  I'd  say,  and  all  that  time  I  was  sitting 
there  shaking  with  laughter — just  shaking  with  in- 
ward laughter ;  I  asked  you  not  to  leave  me  alone ! 
Well,  I  always  was  a  joker  but  I  consider  that  my 
best  joke!" 

Custer  maintained  a  stony  silence,  yet  he  would 
have  given  anything  could  he  have  accepted  those 
pleasant  fictions  his  father  was  seeking  to  establish 
in  the  very  habiliments  of  truth. 

"I  hoped  you'd  know  how  to  take  a  joke,  son !" 
said  the  little  lamplighter  in  a  hurt  tone. 

"Were  you  joking,  sure  enough?"  asked  Custer 
doubtingly. 

"Is  it  likely  I  could  have  been  in  earnest?"  de- 
manded Shrimplin,  hitching  up  his  chin  with  an  air 


368     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

of  disdain.  "What's  my  record  right  here  in  Mount 
Hope?  Was  it  Andy  Gilmore  or  Colonel  Harbison 
that  found  old  man  McBride  when  he  was  murdered 
in  his  store  ?"  And  the  little  lamplighter's  tone  grew 
more  and  more  indignant  as  he  proceeded.  "Maybe 
you  think  it  was  your  disgustin'  and  dirty  Uncle 
Joe?  /  seem  to  remember  it  was  Bill  Shrimplin,  or 
do  I  just  dream  I  was  there — but  I  ain't  been  called 
a  liar,  not  by  no  living  man — "  and  he  twirled  an 
end  of  his  drooping  flaxen  mustache  between  thumb 
and  forefinger.     "Facts  is  facts,"  he  finished. 

"Everybody  knows  you  found  old  Mr.  Mc- 
Bride— "  said  Custer  rather  eagerly. 

"I'm  expecting  to  hear  it  hinted  I  didn't!"  replied 
Mr.  Shrimplin  darkly.  "I'm  expecting  to  hear  it 
stated  by  some  natural-born  liar  that  I  set  in  my  cart 
and  bellered  for  help !" 

"But  you  didn't,  and  nobody  says  you  did,"  in- 
sisted the  boy. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  don't  have  to  take  my  word 
for  it,"  said  Shrimplin.  "I'm  glad  them  facts  is  a 
matter  of  official  record  up  to  the  court-house.  I 
don't  know,  though,  that  I  care  so  blame  much 
about  being  held  up  as  a  public  character;  if  I 
hadn't  a  reputation  out  of  the  common,  maybe  I 
wouldn't  be  misjudged  when  I  stand  back  to  give 
some  one  else  a  chance  !" 

He  laughed  with  large  scorn  of  the  world's  little- 
ness. 

The  epic  of  William  Shrimplin  was  taking  to  it- 


FAITH    IS    RESTORED  369 

self  its  old  high  noble  strain,  and  Custer  was  aware 
of  a  sneaking  sense  of  shame  that  he  could  have 
doubted  even  for  an  instant ;  then  swiftly  the  happy 
consciousness  stole  in  on  him  that  he  had  been 
weighed  in  the  balance  by  this  specialist  in  human 
courage  and  had  not  been  found  wanting.  And 
his  heart  waxed  large  in  his  thin  little  body. 

They  were  jogging  along  Mount  Hope's  deserted 
streets  when  Marshall  Langham  roused  from  his 
stupor. 

" Where  are  you  taking  me?"  he  demanded  of  the 
boy. 

"Home,  Mr.  Langham— we're  almost  there  now," 
responded  Custer. 

"Take  me  to  my  father's,"  said  Marshall  with  an 
effort,  and  his  head  fell  over  on  Custer's  small  shoul- 
der. 

He  did  not  speak  again  until  Bill  came  to  a 
stand  before  Judge  Langham's  gate. 

"Are  we  there?"  he  asked  of  the  boy. 

"Yes—" 

"Don't  you  think  we'd  better  get  help?"  said 
Shrimplin. 

And  Marshall  seeming  to  acquiesce  in  this,  the 
little  lamplighter  entered  the  yard  and  going  to  the 
front  door  rang  the  bell.  A  minute  passed,  and 
growing  impatient  he  rang  again.  There  succeeded 
another  interval  of  waiting  in  which  Shrimplin 
cocked  his  head  on  one  side  to  catch  the  sound  of 
possible  footsteps  in  the  hall. 


37o     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"He  says  try  the  knob,"  called  Custer  from  the 
cart. 

Doing  this,  Shrimplin  felt  the  door  yield,  it  was 
not  locked;  at  the  same  instant  he  made  this  dis- 
covery, however,  he  heard  a  footfall  in  the  street 
and  so,  hurried  back  to  the  gate.  The  new-comer 
halted  when  he  was  abreast  of  wild  Bill,  and  stared 
first  at  the  cart  and  then  at  Shrimplin. 

"Is  anything  the  matter  ?"  he  asked. 

It  was  Watt  Harbison. 

"Young  Mr.  Langham  has  fell  off  the  high  iron 
bridge,"  said  the  little  lamplighter,  with  a  dignity 
that  more  than  covered  his  lapse  from  grammar. 

"Why — are  you  badly  hurt,  Marsh  ?"  cried  Watt, 
going  close  to  the  cart. 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  in  most  infernal  pain,"  said 
Langham  slowly. 

"Do  you  think  we  can  lift  him?"  asked  Shrimplin. 
"The  judge  don't  seem  to  be  at  home." 

"Your  boy  would  better  go  to  my  uncle's;  Judge 
Langham  may  be  there,"  said  Watt. 

And  Custer  promptly  slid  out  of  the  cart  and  sped 
off  up  the  street. 

Langham  met  the  delay  with  grim  patience.  A 
strange  indifference  had  taken  the  place  of  fear, 
nothing  seemed  of  much  moment  any  more.  Pres- 
ently in  his  stupor  he  heard  the  sound  of  quick  steps, 
then  Colonel  Harbison's  voice,  and  a  moment  later 
he  was  aware  that  the  three  men  had  lifted  him  from 


FAITH    IS    RESTORED  371 

the  cart  and  were  carrying  him  along  the  path 
toward  the  house.     They  entered  the  hall. 

"Take  me  up-stairs,"  he  said,  and  without  pause 
his  bearers  moved  forward. 

They  saw  now  that  his  face  was  pinched  and 
ghastly  under  the  smear  of  blood  that  was  oozing 
from  an  ugly  cut  on  his  cheek,  and  Watt  and  the 
colonel  exchanged  significant  glances.  When  they 
reached  the  head  of  the  stairs  Custer  pushed  open 
the  first  door;  the  room  thus  disclosed  was  in 
darkness,  and  the  colonel,  with  a  whispered  caution 
to  his  companions,  released  his  hold  on  Langham, 
and  striking  a  match,  stepped  into  the  room  where, 
having  found  the  chandelier,  he  turned  on  the  gas. 
As  the  light  flared  up,  Shrimplin  and  Watt  ad- 
vanced with  their  helpless  burden.  It  was  the 
judge's  chamber  they  had  entered  and  it  was  not  un- 
tenanted, for  there  on  the  bed  lay  the  judge  himself. 

It  was  Langham  who  first  saw  that  recumbent 
figure.  A  hoarse  inarticulate  groan  escaped  him.  He 
twisted  clear  of  the  hands  that  supported  him  and 
by  a  superhuman  effort  staggered  to  his  feet,  he  even 
took  an  uncertain  step  in  the  direction  of  the  bed, 
his  starting  eyes  fixed  on  the  spare  figure.  Then 
his  strength  deserted  him  and  with  a  cry  that  rose 
to  a  shriek,  he  pitched  forward  on  his  face. 

The  colonel  strode  past  the  fallen  man  to  the  bed- 
side, where  for  an  instant  he  stood  looking  down  on 
a  placid  face  and  into  open  eyes.     As  his  glance 


372     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

wandered  he  saw  that  the  judge's  nerveless  fingers 
still  grasped  the  butt  of  a  revolver. 

White-faced  he  turned  away.  "Is  he  dead,  Colo- 
nel?" asked  the  little  lamplighter  in  an  awe-struck 
voice.  "Was  he  murdered?"  and  visions  of  future 
notoriety  flashed  through  his  mind. 

The  colonel  and  Watt  exchanged  shocked  glances. 

"Here,  Shrimplin,  help  me  with  Marsh !"  said 
Watt.     "We  must  get  him  out  of  here  at  once !" 

They  lifted  Langham  in  their  arms  and  bore  him 
into  an  adjoining  room.  As  they  placed  him  upon 
the  bed  he  recovered  consciousness  and  clutched 
Watt  by  the  sleeve. 

"I've  been  seeing  all  sorts  of  things  to-night — 
it  began  while  I  lay  in  that  ditch  with  the  pigs  root- 
ing about  me!  Where  is  my  father,  can't  you  find 
him  ?"  he  demanded  eagerly. 

Watt  turned  his  head  away. 

"Then  that  was  not  a  dream — you  saw  it,  too?" 
said  Langham  huskily.  He  dropped  back  on  his 
pillow.  "Dead — Oh,  my  God!"  he  whispered,  and 
was  a  long  time  silent. 

Harbison  despatched  Shrimplin  and  Custer  in 
quest  of  a  physician,  and  he  and  Watt  busied  them- 
selves with  removing  Marshall's  wet  clothes.  When 
this  was  done  they  washed  the  blood-stains  from 
his  face.  He  did  not  speak  while  they  were  thus 
occupied;  his  eyes,  wide  and  staring,  were  fixed  on 
vacancy.  He  was  seeing  only  that  still  figure  on  the 
bed  in  the  room  adjoining. 


FAITH    IS    RESTORED  373 

There  was  a  brisk  step  on  the  stairs  and  they  were 
joined  by  Doctor  Taylor. 

"I  declare,  Marsh,  I  am  sorry  for  this.  You  must 
have  had  quite  a  tumble,  how  did  you  manage  it?" 
he  said,  as  he  approached  the  bed. 

Langham's  eyes  lost  something  of  their  intentness 
as  they  were  turned  toward  the  physician,  but  he 
did  not  answer  him.  The  doctor  moved  a  step  aside 
with  Colonel  Harbison. 

"Had  he  been  drinking?"  he  asked  in  a  low  tone. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  colonel. 

"Shrimplin  has  gone  for  Mrs.  Langham — I  think 
they  are  here  now.  Don't  let  her  come  up  until  I 
have  made  my  examination.     Will  you  see  to  this?" 

And  the  colonel  quitted  the  room  and  hurried 
down-stairs. 

As  he  gained  the  floor  below,  Evelyn  entered  the 
house. 

"How  is  Marsh,  Colonel  Harbison?"  she  asked. 

Her  face  was  colorless  but  her  manner  was  unex- 
cited ;  her  lips  even  had  a  smile  for  the  colonel. 

"Doctor  Taylor  is  with  him,  and  I  trust  he  will 
be  able  to  tell  you  that  Marshall's  injuries  are  not 
serious !"  said  Harbison  gently. 

"Where  is  he?     I  must  go  to  him — " 

"The  doctor  prefers  that  you  wait  until  he  fin- 
ishes his  examination,"  said  the  colonel.  He  drew 
her  into  the  library.  "Evelyn,  I  must  tell  you — you 
must  know  that  something  else — unspeakably  dread- 
ful— has  happened  here  to-night!" 


374     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Yes?"  The  single  word  was  no  more  than  a 
breath  on  her  full  lips. 

The  colonel  hesitated. 

"You  need  not  fear  to  tell  me — whatever  it  is,  I 
— I  am  prepared  for  anything — "  said  Evelyn,  with 
a  pause  between  each  word. 

"The  judge  is  dead,"  said  Harbison  simply.  "My 
poor  old  friend  is  dead!" 

"Dead — Marshall's  father  dead!"  She  looked  at 
him  curiously,  with  a  questioning  light  in  her  eyes. 
"You  have  not  told  me  all,  Colonel  Harbison !" 

"Not  told  you  all — "  he  repeated. 

"How  did  he  die?" 

"I  think — I  fear  he  shot  himself,  but  of  course  it 
may  have  been  the  purest  accident — " 

"It  was  not  an  accident — "  she  cried  with  a  sob. 
"Oh,  don't  mind  what  I  am  saying!"  she  added 
quickly,  seeing  the  look  of  astonishment  on  the 
colonel's  face. 

"Mrs.  Langham  may  come  up  if  she  wishes!" 
called  Doctor  Taylor,  speaking  from  the  head  of  the 
stairs. 

Evelyn  moved  down  the  hall  and  paused. 

"Does  Marsh  know?"  she  asked  of  the  colonel. 

"Yes,  unfortunately  we  carried  him  into  his 
father's  room,"  explained  Harbison. 

Evelyn  went  slowly  up  the  stairs.  The  horror  of 
the  situation  was  beyond  words.  As  she  entered  the 
room  where  Marshall  lay,  Watt  Harbison  and  the 
doctor  silently  withdrew  into  the  hall,  closing  the 


FAITH    IS    RESTORED  375 

door  after  them ;  but  Langham  gave  no  immediate 
sign  that  he  was  aware  of  his  wife's  presence* 

"Marsh?"  she  said  softly. 

His  palpable  weakness  and  his  cut  and  bruised 
face  gave  her  an  instinctive  feeling  of  tenderness  for 
him.  At  the  sound  of  her  voice  Langham's  heavy 
lids  slid  back  and  he  gazed  up  at  her. 

"Have  they  told  you?"  he  asked  in  an  eager  whis- 
per. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  and  there  was  a  little  space  of 
time  when  neither  spoke. 

She  drew  a  chair  to  his  bedside  and  seated  herself. 
In  the  next  room  she  could  hear  Doctor  Taylor 
moving  about  and  now  and  then  an  indistinct  word 
when  he  spoke  with  Watt  Harbison.  She  imagined 
the  offices  they  were  performing  for  the  dead  man. 
Then  a  door  was  softly  closed  and  she  heard  foot- 
steps as  they  passed  out  into  the  hall. 

Evelyn  kept  her  place  at  the  bedside  with- 
out even  altering  the  position  she  had  first  taken, 
while  her  glance  never  for  an  instant  left  the  hag- 
gard face  on  the  pillow.  Beyond  the  open  windows 
the  silver  light  had  faded  from  the  sky.  At  intervals 
a  chill  wind  rustled  the  long  curtains.  This,  and 
her  husband's  labored  breathing  were  the  only 
sounds  in  the  leaden  silence  that  followed  the 
departure  of  the  two  men  from  the  adjoining 
room.  She  was  conscious  of  a  dreary  sense  of 
detachment  from  all  the  world,  the  little  circle  of 
which  she  had  been  the  center  seemed  to  contract 


376     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

until  it  held  only  herself.  Suddenly  Langham 
turned  uneasily  on  his  pillow  and  glanced  toward 
the  window. 

"What  time  is  it?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"It  must  be  nearly  day/'  said  Evelyn.  "How  do 
you  feel  now,  Marsh?     Do  you  suffer ?" 

He  shook  his  head.  His  eyes  were  turned  toward 
the  window. 

"What  day  is  this?"  he  asked  after  a  brief  silence. 

"What  day?"  repeated  Evelyn. 

"Yes — the  day  of  the  week,  I  mean  ?" 

"It's  Friday." 

"They  are  going  to  hang  John  North  this  morn- 
ing!" he  said,  and  he  regarded  her  from  under  his 
half-closed  lids.  "I  wonder  what  he  is  thinking  of 
now?"  he  added. 

"Would  the  governor  do  nothing?"  she  asked  in 
a  whisper. 

She  was  white  to  the  lips. 

"And  the  Herbert  girl — I  wonder  what  she  is 
thinking  of!" 

"Hush,  Marsh — Oh,  hush  !  I — I  can  not — I  must 
not  think  of  it !"  she  cried,  and  pressed  her  hands  to 
her  eyes  convulsively. 

"What  does  it  matter  to  you  ?"  he  said  grimly. 

"Nothing  in  one  way — everything  in  another !" 

"I  wish  to  God  I  could  believe  you !"  he  muttered. 

"You  may — on  my  soul,  Marsh,  you  may !  It  was 
never  what  you  think— never — never!" 


FAITH    IS    RESTORED  377 

"It  doesn't  matter  now,"  he  said,  and  turned  his 
face  toward  the  wall. 

"Marsh — "  she  began. 

He  moved  impatiently,  and  she  realized  that  it 
was  useless  to  attempt  to  alter  what  he  had  come  to 
believe  in  absolutely.  Beyond  the  windows  the  first 
pale  streaks  of  a  spring  dawn  were  visible,  but  the 
earth  still  clothed  itself  in  silence.  The  moments 
were  racing  on  to  the  final  act  of  the  pitiless  tragedy 
which  involved  so  many  lives. 

"Marsh — "  Evelyn  began  again. 

"I've  been  a  dog  to  endure  your  presence  in  my 
house!"  he  said  bitterly. 

Evelyn  was  about  to  answer  him  when  Doctor 
Taylor  came  into  the  room. 

"Is  he  awake?"  he  questioned. 

Langham  gazed  up  into  the  doctor's  face. 

"Will  I  get  well?"  he  demanded. 

"I  hope  so,  Marshall — I  can  see  no  reason  why  a 
few  days  of  quiet  won't  see  you  up  and  about  quite 
as  if  nothing  had  happened." 

"Come — I  want  to  know  the  truth !  Do  you  think 
I'm  hurt  internally,  is  that  it?"  He  sought  to  raise 
himself  on  his  elbow  but  slipped  back  groaning. 

"You  have  sustained  a  very  severe  shock,  still — " 
began  the  doctor. 

"Will  I  recover?"  insisted  Langham  impatiently. 

"Oh,  please,  Marshall!"  cried  Evelyn. 

"I  want  to  know  the  truth !     If  you  don't  think 


378     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

you  can  stand  it,  go  out  into  the  hall  while  I  thresh 
this  matter  out  with  Taylor!"  But  Evelyn  did  not 
leave  her  place  at  his  bedside. 

"You  must  not  excite  yourself !"  said  Taylor. 

"Humph — if  you  won't  tell  me  what  I  wish  to 
know,  I'll  tell  you  my  opinion;  it  is  that  I  am  not 
going  to  recover.  I  must  see  Moxlow.  Who  is 
down-stairs  ?" 

"Colonel  Harbison  and  his  nephew." 

"Ask  Watt  to  find  Moxlow  and  bring  him  here. 
He's  probably  at  his  boarding-house." 

He  spoke  with  painful  effort,  and  the  doctor 
glanced  uncertainly  at  Evelyn,  who  by  a  slight  in- 
clination of  the  head  indicated  that  she  wished  her 
husband's  request  complied  with.  Taylor  quitted 
the  room. 

"Why  do  you  wish  to  see  Moxlow?"  Evelyn  asked 
the  moment  they  were  alone. 

"I  want  him  here;  I  may  wish  to  tell  him  some- 
thing— and  I  may  not,  it  all  depends,"  he  said 
slowly,  as  his  heavy  lids  closed  over  his  tired  eyes. 

It  was  daylight  without,  and  there  was  the  oc- 
casional sound  of  wheels  in  the  street.  Evelyn  real- 
ized with  a  sudden  sense  of  shock  that  unless  Mar- 
shall's bloodless  lips  opened  to  tell  his  secret,  but  a 
few  hours  of  life  remained  to  John  North. 

A  struggle  was  going  on  within  her,  it  was  a  strug- 
gle that  had  never  ceased  from  the  instant  she  first 
entered  the  room.  One  moment  she  found  she 
could  pray  that  Marshall  might  speak;  and  the  next,. 


FAITH    IS    RESTORED  379 

terror  shook  her  lest  he  would,  and  declare  North's 
innocence  and  his  own  guilt.  She  slipped  from  his 
bedside  and  stealing  to  the  window  parted  the  long 
curtains  with  trembling  hands.  She  felt  widely  sep- 
arated in  spirit  from  her  husband;  he  seemed 
strangely  indifferent  to  her ;  only  his  bitter  sense  of 
injury  and  hurt  remained,  his  love  had  become  a 
dead  thing,  since  his  very  weakness  carried  him  be- 
yond the  need  of  her.  She  belonged  to  his  full  life 
and  there  was  nothing  of  tenderness  and  sympathy 
that  survived.  A  slight  noise  caused  her  to  turn 
from  the  window.  Marshall  was  endeavoring  to 
draw  himself  higher  on  his  pillow. 

"Here — lift  me  up — "  he  gasped,  as  she  ran  to  his 
side. 

She  passed  an  arm  about  him  and  did  as  he  de- 
sired. 

"That's  better — "  he  panted. 

"Shall  I  call  the  doctor?" 

He  shook  his  head  and,  as  she  withdrew  her  arm, 
lay  back  weak  and  shaken. 

"I  tell  you  I  am  hurt  internally !"  he  said. 

"Let  me  call  the  doctor!"  she  entreated. 

"What  can  he  do?" 

"Marsh,  if  you  believe  this — "  she  began. 

"You're  thinking  of  him !"  he  snarled. 

"I  am  thinking  of  you,  Marsh  !" 

"He  threw  you  over  for  the  Herbert  girl!"  he 
said  with  an  evil  ghastly  smile.  "Do  you  want  to 
save  him  for  her?" 


380     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"You  don't  need  to  tell  all,  Marsh — "  she  said 
eagerly. 

'That's  you!"  and  he  laughed  under  his  breath. 
"I  can't  imagine  you  advocating  anything  absolutely 
right!  If  I  tell,  I'll  make  a  clean  breast  of  it;  if  I 
don't  I'll  lie  with  my  last  breath !" 

He  was  thinking  of  Joe  Montgomery  now,  as  he 
had  thought  of  him  many  times  since  he  drew  him- 
self up  out  of  that  merciless  yellow  flood  into  which 
the  handy-man  had  flung  him.  Evelyn  looked  at 
him  wonderingly.  His  virtues,  as  well  as  his  vices, 
were  things  beyond  her  comprehension. 

The  door  opened,  and  Moxlow  came  into  the 
room.  At  sight  of  him,  Langham's  dull  eyes  grew 
brilliant. 

"I  thought  you  would  never  get  here !"  he  said. 

"This  is  too  bad,  Marsh !"  said  his  law  partner 
sympathizingly,  as  Evelyn  yielded  him  her  place 
and  withdrew  to  the  window  again. 

"Where's  Taylor?"  asked  Langham  abruptly. 

"He's  had  to  go  to  the  jail,  he  was  leaving  the 
house  as  I  got  here,"  replied  Moxlow. 

There  was  the  noise  of  voices  in  the  hall,  one  of 
which  was  the  colonel's,  evidently  raised  in  protest, 
then  a  clumsy  hand  was  heard  fumbling  with  the 
knob  and  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  Joe  Mont- 
gomery slouched  into  the  room. 

"Boss,  you  got  to  see  me  now!"  he  cried. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  sprang  to  his  feet  with 
an  angry  exclamation. 


FAITH    IS    RESTORED  381 

"Let  him  alone — "  said  Langham  weakly. 

Montgomery  stole  to  the  foot  of  the  bed  and 
stared  down  on  Langham. 

"You  tell  him,  boss,"  nodding  his  head  toward 
Moxlow.     "I  put  it  up  to  you  !"  he  said. 

Langham's  glance  dwelt  for  an  instant  on  the 
handy-man,  then  it  shifted  back  to  Moxlow. 

"Stop  the  execution  !"  he  said,  and  Moxlow 
thought  his  mind  wandered.  "North  didn't  kill 
McBride,"  Langham  went  on.  "Do  you  under- 
stand me — he  is  not  the  guilty  man !" 

A  gray  pallor  was  overspreading  his  face.  It  was 
called  there  by  another  presence  in  that  room;  an 
invisible  but  most  potent  presence. 

"Do  you  understand  me?"  he  repeated,  for  he  saw 
that  his  words  had  made  no  impression  on  Moxlow. 

"Go  on,  boss!"  cried  Montgomery,  in  a  fever  of 
impatience. 

"Do  you  understand  what  I  am  telling  you  ?  John 
North  did  not  kill  McBride !"  Langham  spoke  with 
painful  effort.  "Joe  knows  who  did — so  do  I — so 
did  my  father — he  knew  an  innocent  man  had  been 
convicted !" 

At  mention  of  the  judge,  Moxlow  started.  He 
bent  above  Langham. 

"Marsh,  if  John  North  didn't  kill  McBride,  who 
did?" 

But  Langham  made  no  reply.  Weak,  pallid,  and 
racked  by  suffering,  he  lay  back  on  his  pillow. 
Joe  leaned  forward  over  the  foot  of  the  bed. 


382      THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

"Tell  him,  boss ;  it's  no  odds  to  you  now — tell  him 
quick  for  God's  sake,  or  it  will  be  too  late!"  he 
urged  in  a  fearful  voice. 

There  was  a  tense  silence  while  they  waited  for 
Langham  to  speak.  Moxlow  heard  the  ticking  of 
the  clock  on  the  mantel. 

"If  you  have  anything  to  say,  Marsh — " 

Langham  raised  himself  on  his  elbows  and  his  lips 
moved  convulsively,  but  only  a  dry  gasping  sound 
issued  from  them ;  he  seemed  to  have  lost  the  power 
of  speech. 

"If  North  didn't  kill  McBride,  who  did?"  re- 
peated Moxlow. 

A  mighty  effort  wrenched  Langham,  again  his 
lips  came  together  convulsively,  and  then  in  a  whis- 
per he  said: 

"I  did,"  and  fell  back  on  his  pillow. 

There  was  a  moment  of  stillness,  and  then 
from  behind  the  long  curtains  at  the  window  came 
the  sound  of  hysterical  weeping. 

Moxlow,  utterly  dazed  by  his  partner's  con- 
fession, looked  again  at  the  clock  on  the  mantel. 
Fifteen  minutes  had  passed.  It  was  a  quarter  after 
eight.  His  brows  contracted  as  if  he  were  trying 
to  recall  some  half  forgotten  engagement.  Sudden- 
ly he  turned,  comprehendingly,  to  Montgomery. 

"My  God! — North!"  he  exclaimed  and  rushed 
unceremoniously  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-EIGHT 

THE  LAST  NIGHT  IN  JAIL 

WHETHER  John  North  slept  during  his  last 
night  in  jail  the  deputy  sheriff  did  not  know, 
for  that  kindly  little  man  kept  his  arms  folded  across 
his  breast  and  his  face  to  the  wall.  The  night  wore 
itself  out,  and  at  last  pale  indications  of  the  dawn 
crept  into  the  room.  There  was  the  song  of  the 
birds  and  a  little  later  the  rumble  of  an  occasional 
wagon  over  the  paved  streets.  North  stirred  and 
opened  his  eyes. 

"Is  it  light?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  the  deputy. 

The  day  began  with  the  familiar  things  that  make 
up  the  round  of  life,  but  North  was  conscious  that 
he  was  thus  occupying  himself  for  the  last  time. 
Then  he  seated  himself  and  began  a  letter  he  had 
told  Brockett  he  wished  to  write.     Once  he  paused. 

"I  will  have  time  for  this  ?"  he  asked. 

"All  the  time  you  want,  John,"  said  Brockett  hast- 
ily, as  he  slipped  from  the  room. 

The  sun's  level  rays  lifted  and  slanted  into  the 
cell,  while  North,  remote  from  everything  but  the 
memory  of  Elizabeth's  faith  and  courage,  labored  to 

383 


384     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

express  himself.  There  was  the  sound  of  voices  in 
the  yard,  but  their  significance  meant  nothing  to  him 
now.  He  wrote  on  without  lifting  his  head.  At 
last  the  letter  was  finished  and  inclosed  with  a  brief 
note  to  the  general. 

The  pen  dropped  from  North's  fingers  and  he 
stood  erect,  he  was  aware  that  men  were  still  speak- 
ing below  his  window,  then  he  heard  footfalls  in  the 
corridor,  and  turned  toward  the  door.  It  was  the 
sheriff  and  his  deputy.  Conklin  seemed  on  the  verge 
of  collapse,  and  Brockett's  face  was  drawn  and 
ghastly. 

There  was  a  grim  pause,  and  then  Conklin,  in  a 
voice  that  was  but  a  shadow  of  itself,  read  the  death- 
warrant.  When  he  had  finished,  North  cast  a  last 
glance  about  his  cell  and  passed  out  of  the  door  be- 
tween the  two  men.  They  walked  the  length  of  the 
corridor,  descended  the  stairs,  and  entered  the  jail 
office.     North  turned  to  Conklin. 

"I  wish  to  thank  you  and  Brockett  for  your  kind- 
ness to  me,  and  if  you  do  not  mind  I  should  like  to 
shake  hands  with  you  both  and  say  good-by  here," 
for  through  the  office  windows  he  had  caught  sight 
of  the  group  of  men  in  the  yard. 

The  sheriff,  silent,  held  out  his  hand.  He  dared 
not  trust  himself  to  speak.  North  looked  into  his 
face. 

"I  am  sorry  for  you,"  he  said. 

"My  God,  you  may  well  be !"  gasped  Conklin. 

North  shook  hands  with   Brockett,    and    walked 


THE    LAST    NIGHT    IN    JAIL         385 

toward  the  door;  but  as  he  neared  it,  Brockett 
stepped  in  front  of  him  and  threw  it  open.  As  North 
passed  out  into  the  graveled  yard,  out  into  the  full 
light  of  the  warm  spring  day,  the  sheriff  mechan- 
ically looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  twenty  minutes 
after  eight 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-NINE 

AT  IDLE  HOUR 

FROM  her  window  Elizabeth  saw  the  gray 
dawn  which  ushered  in  that  June  day  steal 
over  the  valley  below  Idle  Hour.  Swiftly  out 
of  the  darkness  of  the  long  night  grew  the  ac- 
customed shape  of  things.  Wooded  pastures  and 
plowed  fields  came  mysteriously  into  existence  as 
the  light  spread,  then  the  sun  burst  through  the  cur- 
tain of  mist  which  lay  along  the  eastern  horizon,  and 
it  was  day — the  day  of  his  death. 

Their  many  failures  trooped  up  out  of  the  past 
and  mocked  at  her;  because  of  them  he  must  die. 
They  had  gone  with  feverish  haste  from  hope  to 
hope  to  this  dread  end!  Perhaps  she  had  never 
really  believed  before  that  the  day  and  hour  would 
overtake  them;  when  effort  would  promise  noth- 
ing. But  now  the  very  sense  of  tragedy  filled 
that  silent  morning,  and  her  soul  was  in  fearful  com- 
panionship with  it.  A  flood  of  wild  imaginings 
swept  her  forward,  across  the  little  space  of  time 
that  was  left  to  her  lover.  Gasping  for  breath,  she 
struggled  with  the  grim  horror  that  was  growing  up 
about  him.  His  awful  solitude  came  to  her  as  a  re- 
proach; she  should  have  remained  with  him  to  the 

386 


AT    IDLE    HOUR  387 

end !  Was  there  yet  time  to  go  back,  or  would  she 
be  too  late?  When?  When?  And  she  asked  her- 
self the  question  she  had  not  dared  to  ask  of  her 
father. 

The  day  showed  her  the  distant  roofs  of  Mount 
Hope;  the  day  showed  her  the  square  brick  tower  of 
the  court-house — living  or  dead,  John  North  was  in 
its  very  shadow.  She  crouched  by  the  window,  her 
arms  resting  on  the  ledge  and  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
distant  tower.  How  had  the  night  passed  for  him — 
had  he  slept?  And  the  pity  of  those  lonely  hours 
brought  the  tears  to  her  burning  eyes.  She  heard 
her  father  come  slowly  down  the  hall;  he  paused 
before  her  door. 

"Elizabeth — dear!"  his  voice  was  very  gentle. 

"Yes,  father?" 

But  she  did  not  change  her  position  at  the  win- 
dow. 

"Won't  you  come  down-stairs,  dear?"  he  said. 

"I  can  not — "  and  then  she  felt  the  selfishness  of 
her  refusal,  and  added:  "I  will  be  down  in  a  mo- 
ment, I — I  have  not  quite  finished  dressing — yet!" 

John  North  had  thought  always  of  others.  In  the 
moment  of  his  supremest  agony,  he  had  spoken  not 
at  all  of  himself;  by  word  or  look  he  had  added 
nothing  to  the  sorrow  that  was  crushing  her.  This 
had  been  genuine  courage. 

"I  must  remember  it  always!"  she  told  herself,  as 
she  turned  away  from  the  window.  "I  must  not  be 
selfish — he  would  not  understand  it — " 


388     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

Her  father  was  waiting  for  her  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  and  the  glance  he  bent  on  her  was  keen 
with  anxiety.  Perfect  understanding  existed  be- 
tween them  no  less  now  than  formerly,  but  the  an- 
guish which  had  left  its  impress  on  that  white  face 
removed  her  beyond  any  attempted  expression  of 
sympathy  from  him. 

At  the  end  of  the  hall  the  open  door  gave  a  wide 
vista  of  well-kept  lawns.  Elizabeth  turned  swiftly 
to  this  doorway.  Her  father  kept  his  place  at  her 
side,  and  together  they  passed  from  the  house  out 
into  the  warm  day.  Suddenly  the  girl  paused,  and 
her  eager  gaze  was  directed  toward  Mount  Hope — 
toward  him. 

"Would  it  be  too  late  to  go  to  him  now?"  she 
asked  in  a  feverish  whisper. 

A  spasm  of  pain  contracted  the  old  general's  hag- 
gard face,  but  the  question  found  him  mute. 

"Would  it  be  too  late?"  she  repeated. 

"He  would  not  desire  it,  Elizabeth,"  replied  her 
father. 

"But  would  it  be  too  late?"  and  she  rested  a  shak- 
ing hand  on  his  arm. 

"You  must  not  ask  me  that — I  don't  know." 

He  tried  to  meet  her  glance,  which  seemed  to  read 
his  very  soul,  then  her  hand  dropped  at  her  side  and 
she  took  a  step  forward,  her  head  bowed  and  her 
face  averted. 

Again  came  the  thought  of  North's  awful  isola- 
tion; the  thought  of  that  lonely  death  where  love 


AT    IDLE    HOUR  389 

and  tenderness  had  no  place;  all  the  ghastly  terror 
of  that  last  moment  when  he  was  hurried  from  this 
living  breathing  world!  It  was  a  monstrous  thing! 
A  thing  beyond  belief — incredible,  unspeakable ! 

"We  can  believe  in  his  courage,"  said  her  father, 
"as  certainly  as  we  can  believe  in  his  innocence." 

"Yes — "  she  gasped. 

"That  is  something.  And  the  day  will  surely 
come  when  the  world  will  think  as  we  think.  The 
truth  seems  lost  now,  but  not  for  always !" 

"But  when  he  is  gone — when  he  is  no  longer 
here—" 

The  general  was  silent.  North  had  compelled  his 
respect  and  faith;  for  after  all,  no  guilty  man  could 
have  faced  death  with  so  fine  a  courage.  There  was 
more  to  him  than  he  had  ever  been  willing  to  admit 
in  his  judgment  of  the  man.  Whatever  his  faults, 
they  had  been  the  faults  of  youth;  had  the  oppor- 
tunity been  given  him  he  would  have  redeemed 
himself,  would  have  purged  himself  of  folly. 
"Some  day,"  the  general  was  thinking,  "I  will  tell 
her  just  what  my  feelings  for  North  have  been, 
how  out  of  disapproval  and  doubt  has  come  a  deep 
and  sincere  regard." 

The  sun  swept  higher  in  the  heavens,  and  the 
gray  old  man  with  the  strong  haggard  face,  and  the 
girl  in  whom  the  girl  had  died  and  the  woman  had 
been  born,  walked  on ;  now  with  dragging  steps, 
when  the  stupor  of  despair  seized  her,  now  swiftly 
as  her  thoughts  rushed  from  horror  to  horror. 


390     THE    JUST    AND    THE    UNJUST 

The  world,  basking  in  the  warmth  of  that  June  sun, 
seemed  very  peaceful  as  they  looked  out  across  the 
long  reaches  of  the  flat  valley,  and  on  to  the  distant 
town,  with  the  lazy  smoke  of  its  factory  chimneys 
floated  above  the  spires  and  housetops.  But  the 
peace  that  was  breathed  out  of  the  great  calm  heart 
of  nature  was  not  for  these  two !  The  girl's  sense 
was  only  one  of  fierce  rebellion  at  the  injustice 
which  was  taking — had  taken,  perhaps,  the  life  of 
the  man  she  loved;  an  injustice  that  could  never 
make  amends — so  implacable  in  its  exactions,  so  im- 
potent in  its  atonements ! 

They  were  nearing  the  limits  of  the  grounds; 
back  of  them,  among  its  trees,  loomed  the  gray  stone 
front  of  Idle  Hour.  Her  father  rested  a  hand  upon 
Elizabeth's  shoulder. 

"I  will  try  to  be  brave,  too — as  he  was  always — " 
she  said  pausing. 

She  stood  there,  a  tragic  figure,  and  then  turned 
to  her  father  with  pathetic  courage.  She  would 
take  up  what  was  left  for  her.  She  had  her  mem- 
ories. They  were  of  happiness  no  less  than  sorrow, 
for  she  had  loved  much  and  suffered  much. 

With  a  final  lingering  glance  townward,  she 
turned  away.  Then  a  startled  cry  escaped  her,  and 
her  father  looked  up. 

John  North  was  coming  toward  them  across  the 
lawn. 

THE  END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 

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J4itt_jxr^rn> 

JAN  12  1977 

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NtHrntd  by 

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